The Village
by potato4
Summary: They say it takes a village to raise a child. When Andromeda Tonks dies unexpectedly, Draco Malfoy finds himself dragged into the village raising Teddy Lupin, intertwining his life with a group of Gryffindors he spent his entire life watching bitterly from a distance. This is a story of family, both blood and chosen, of love, of forgiveness, and of friendship. (Dramione/Rated M)
1. Chapter 1

a/n: guess i'm back? (back again)

* * *

**The Village**

Chapter One

There were always so many people. No matter where he went, crowds and lines and shuffling groups took up the entire sidewalk. Deep in the dark corner of his brain he was always trying to ignore, he wondered how there still managed to be so many people even after such a deadly war.

He pinched his wrist, leaving a small half-moon mark from his nail. No dark thoughts, not today.

He reached the guards, who scanned him up and down, scowled when they found nothing, and begrudgingly stamped his hand for temporary access.

"If you're not out by 2 PM, the ink'll burn your skin," one guard warned. Draco didn't doubt the man's words. Security measures post-war were thorough to the point of overkill.

Overkill. Like the war. Too many kills.

Another pinch.

He swept his robes around his chest and stepped towards the lift, where he was met by another scowl. "Floor?" the attendee sneered.

"Eighteen."

"Stamp?"

He obliged, flashing his hand to the attendee, who let him through with a short huff. The lift ride was short; the attendee took him straight up without stopping to pick up anyone on the other floors who might be waiting.

On floor eighteen he was met with another crowd, this one full of employees too busy chatting about nonsense to notice or scowl at him. He reached a bronze door marked 1808, the number indicated to him on the letter he had received a few days ago. Taking a deep breath, he opened it with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," a skinny man with floppy jowls and thick eyeglasses greeted him. Mr Douglass Asheby. "Good morning."

Draco opened his mouth to greet Douglass back, but was caught off guard by another presence in the room: a man with jet-black hair, round glasses, and tense shoulders.

"Potter?"

* * *

Two days ago, on the morning of September 21, 2003, Draco had been enjoying his morning tea with an orange scone when he received a letter. It wasn't like the form letters he usually received every third Friday of the month reminding him of his monthly parole meeting, but a handwritten letter addressed to Mr. Draco Malfoy. He ripped it open immediately.

_Mr. Malfoy, _

_It is my deepest displeasure to inform you that your aunt, Mrs. Andromeda Tonks, was involved in a fatal vehicular accident last night, September 20th. _

_We are writing to request your presence at the Ministry of Magic, 18th floor, room 1808 at 11 AM on Tuesday the twenty-third, regarding a mention of your name in Mrs. Tonk's last will. Should you choose not to attend this meeting, the information will be kept private and archived as is protocol. _

_Our deepest apologies for your most tragic loss. _

_Signed, _

_Mr. Douglass Asheby _

_Senior Will Broker _

_Department of Life and Death_

_Ministry of Magic_

Draco's knee-jerk reaction to the news was to note the irony of his aunt dying in a vehicle accident after surviving the world's most deadly war. Then he pinched himself as punishment for thinking such a thing.

The news of his aunt's passing wasn't deeply sorrowful to him. He'd never met his aunt, couldn't even recall what she looked like. Still, he knew he was going to attend the meeting. He was curious what Andromeda might have left him, being that she thought his side of the family to be supremely evil. Perhaps she had a plan to leave him some cursed deadly artifact…

Pinch.

Even if it was a deadly artifact, Draco's curiosity was too strong to resist, which was how he ended up in a room with a grumpy Ministry employee and none other than one Mr. Harry Potter.

"Malfoy," Harry greeted. Draco scowled, trying to hide his shock. Just seeing the young man who had been the bane of his existence throughout his adolescence was enough to trigger a landslide of anxiety, a type of visceral nervousness mixed with fury he had tried his best to pack neatly away and ignore.

"What's he doing here?"

Douglass smiled nervously. "Please take a seat Mr. Malfoy, and all this will become much more clear."

Draco sat in a hardbacked chair next to Harry, both of them positioned facing Douglass' desk. Douglass sighed.

"I want to thank you both for being here, and to extend my apologies again for your loss."

Draco stole a small glance at Harry. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he'd either been socked in the face or crying. His hair was a mess, his eyes were red, and he looked closer to 35 than 23.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have met with Mr. Potter previous to this and after thorough discussion, we decided it appropriate to bring you in to read the section of Mrs. Tonk's will that concerns you."

Draco frowned. "Why does Potter get to decide what is or isn't pertinent to me?"

Douglass looked sideways at Harry. "Perhaps I should just read the will. Does that sound good to you, Mr. Potter?"

After noting Harry's weary nod, Douglass pulled out a thick scroll and began to read.

"The most important concern of mine, which I must address with the utmost specificity, is my dear Teddy. According to the wishes of my daughter and her husband, as well as according to my best judgement, Teddy should go to his godfather, Harry James Potter, should he accept the responsibility in the event of my untimely death. Harry, if you're reading this- I am so sorry to thrust this upon you, and trust that Remus and Nymphadora will not look down on you in anger or disappointment if you cannot handle the burden of a child."

Harry made a small noise like a whimper and Draco felt sorry for him. Seeing him so broken tempered his anger- it was hard to feel prideful against a man in such a pitiful state. A father at 23, and of a small child, at that. It was a curse he wouldn't wish on anyone. Not that Draco hadn't cursed people in the past, just like that necklace and-

Pinch.

"In the event that Harry refuses," Douglass continued. "I have set aside enough money for Teddy to do well enough after he graduates from Hogwarts, and I trust that foster care will treat him decently until he can leave for school.

"But if Harry does accept, there are a few things I must have outlined on paper. For one, Teddy has no family left, and Harry (at the time I am writing this) is too young to have his own family. Teddy has been welcomed by the Weasley family, and I trust that Harry will continue to let Teddy bond with them so he can have some semblance of normalcy.

"There are three more distant relatives of Teddy, but their history means they won't be candidates for his custody. These are, of course, Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy."

Douglass paused and peered up at Draco, who didn't move. This was about the child. Was he here just to be berated again for his mistakes?

"It is my deliberate request that Teddy not be allowed contact with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy until his 17th birthday, whereupon it will become his own choice to seek out a relationship with them. However, I feel it wrong to deprive Teddy entirely of his own blood. It is my understanding that Draco, being a young man in a difficult situation, may not be so toxic a presence as his parents. Therefore, I will defer to Harry's judgement whether or not to allow Draco into Teddy's life."

Douglass cleared his throat and folded up the papers. "It moves on to unrelated things from there. That is, essentially, why we're here today."

Draco looked from Douglass to Harry to Douglass again, rather speechless. All this was about a child- a child he'd never met and hardly knew about, one his parents were apparently too evil to meet, but he was granted the privilege of seeing?

"I'm not sure I entirely understand," he said quietly. "Potter's definitely accepting the child?"

"I am," said Harry gravely. "I'm his godfather."

"But you're hardly an adult yourself-"

"I know," he interrupted. "But I know what it's like to be an orphan, and I can't do that to Teddy."

Teddy. A little boy, his cousin. Draco grew solemn. "So this is you asking if I'd like to be part of his life?"

"No, this is me asking if you deserve to be part of his life."

"Deserve?" he scoffed. "I'm not here to kiss your arse to meet a child I know nothing about."

Harry thrust a hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a crumpled photo, which he shoved towards Draco. "Look, then."

Draco did as he was told. Smiling up at him was a toddler with bright purple hair who was laughing and holding up a plastic fork like it was a wand. He had brown eyes, fat cheeks, and… a pointed nose. _His_ pointed nose, the one his mother, his aunts, and now this Teddy, also had.

"His name is Edward Lupin, but we all call him Teddy. He's a metamorphagus like his Mum. He's five years old and he's got a fiery personality, always up to something. He's smart, Hermione's been sure of that. He loves to read and pretend he's riding dragons. And now all his blood family is killed. Gone. So maybe, Malfoy, stop and consider that this may not be about you, but about this little boy."

Draco couldn't help the small lump that formed in his throat, threatening to expose his humanity. He never knew Tonks, and he hardly remembered Lupin from his third year, but something in him felt connected to this abandoned boy. It wasn't blood- he learned when his aunt held a knife to his mother's throat that blood meant nothing. No, he felt something else for the boy, something like empathy but stronger.

He looked sideways at Harry, conflicted. It was too large a commitment to make on the spot. "Can I think about it?"

Harry sighed and tucked the photo back into his pocket. "Don't take too long."

* * *

Draco came home to the polite but reverent greeting of his two rottweiler dogs, who licked his palms gently, knowing better than to jump on him.

"Good afternoon," he said to them. "What do you two think about this? Should I become an uncle?"

The truth was, the moment he saw Potter he knew he was fucked. That anxiety, that immediate compulsion to puff his chest and prove his worth combined with a deep-seated jealousy he couldn't shake, it was still there after all these years.

Blaise was the one that started it all up again, actually. He went to South Africa for law school and met _her, _and when he came back he talked about _her _and her _friends_ all the damn time. It was only natural that Draco should develop an obsession- no, it wasn't an obsession, it wasn't nearly that sinister, it was a mere fascination- with them. It wasn't something new; he had had a similar fascination in Hogwarts, albeit then it was mixed with far more disdain and disapproval. Now, it was a yearning, a longing, a curiosity. He wanted what they had. When he saw their faces in a paper, he couldn't help but read the corresponding article; when Blaise mentioned them in conversations, he perked up, devoured whatever information was provided.

It truly wasn't that Draco necessarily wanted to be friends with them, rather, he was truly perplexed at how a group of people could have gone through the same war he did and not turn out as scarred as he had. He didn't understand how it was possible for people to be as interconnected, as unbreakably bonded, as they were. Friendship, to him, was not a commitment or a bond; it was a mutual agreement, a product of circumstance and necessity. He had a morbid curiosity for what it felt like to be one of them, and it made him angry he felt that way.

Seeing Potter in person for the first time in years was surreal. Draco felt as if he knew him, or at least a version of him, and it was unsettling to see him in the flesh. Unlike the photos in the paper, he looked human in real life: he had bags under his eyes and there was pain in his voice. He didn't seem how they made him out to be- a hero with a perfect life and an even more perfect complexion. He was human. It was actually comforting to see.

"Missy?" he called out.

A tiny house elf in a pink smock came running. She was a small, even for an elf, and her limbs were so dainty it looked like she might be at risk to dissolve under the next rainfall. Despite her slight figure, she was a tough and lively house elf, never one to turn down a difficult task. "Hello Master Malfoy. Hows was your meeting?"

"It was fine," he said. "Missy, I have a favor to ask you."

"Missy was just abouts to start lunch."

"This is more important. I need you to go to the Manor and fetch Mother's childhood photo album. Can you do that for me?"

Missy looked all too unenthusiastic to visit the Manor, but agreed nonetheless. "Is theres anything I should tell Miss Narcissa?"

"No. Just the album please."

Draco understood the elf's hesitancy. He, too, wouldn't want to return to the Manor. Directly after the war he'd put all of his inheritance into a private bank vault and then moved into his own place. His parents, both under house arrest, became too much to bear and the house itself was too haunted by his family's mistakes. He needed a new start, to experience independence and learn who he could be outside of his parents' expectations.

So far, he hadn't learned much about himself besides the fact that he harbored large amounts of resentment towards both the world and himself. He'd discovered there wasn't much happening in his life. He'd gotten the dogs for company, the house elf to make sure he ate every day, but he had no friends, no family, no coworkers. He hardly left the house, and his parents had grown cold toward him ever since he left the Manor.

There was a crack and Missy appeared, tottering haphazardly under a behemoth of a photo album. "Miss Narcissa told Missy to tell you to return it soon, and that she heards about her sister. And she wants to talk to you."

Draco sent Missy to the Manor on occasion so he could make sure his parents were doing alright. His mother always asked for him to come visit, but the requests were becoming more desperate lately. Perhaps he would finally reach out to her. He communicated with her via Missy, letters, and short Floo calls, but they otherwise lived completely separate lives.

"Thank you, Missy," he said, taking the album from the elf. He flipped through the pages slowly, looking for Andromeda. His mother had few photos from her youth and the ones she did have were carefully posed and professionally photographed. The first portion of the album was full of portraits of Bellatrix, which he flipped through without a second glance. It was difficult to imagine his psychotic aunt as an innocent child.

Narcissa had several pages of glamour shots posed next to flowers, under hedges, on a sailboat, by the beach. He traced her face wistfully- she was very pretty, serene, but pretty. There was hope in her eyes and he yearned to go back in time, pull her aside, and yell- _Don't do it! Don't marry him. He's a coward, and he'll make you a coward, too. _

Finally he flipped past the last page of Narcissa's photos, but found the last third of the album was empty. Dozens and dozens of photos all removed. In the very back there was one sheet of photos of all three sisters but Andromeda's face was blacked out.

It was a jarring sight, her existence wiped out just like that.

He was about to close the album when a loose photo slipped out from the back cover. He caught it and saw writing on the back in his mother's familiar loopy cursive.

_It's the only one I have of her. _

Draco flipped it over and there she was- a young woman, no older than 25, holding a small child who must have been Teddy's mum. Andromeda smiled at the camera and waved, then leaned down to touch her nose to Tonks'. Both of them had that pointed Black nose- his nose.

Draco sighed, knowing exactly what he had to do. What he wanted to do.

_Potter, _

_I have come to the conclusion that I would like to be part of the boy's life. Tell me what the next steps moving forward should be. My schedule is open. _

_Best,_

_D. Malfoy _

Then, feeling the letter wasn't complete, he reached for his wand, made a copy of the photo, and added:

_PS: This photo is for Teddy._

* * *

a/n: this will be a dramione story, but like any good love story, it'll take awhile to get there. there will be dark themes including self harm and suicidal thoughts, and there will be some light sex. nothing too wild, though. this story will likely be updated once a week. hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

_songs_

_the archer/taylor swift_

_clementine/halsey_

_hollow crown/ellie goulding_

* * *

Chapter Two

Hermione Granger re-met Blaise Zabini in Cape Town, South Africa at a small magical law school. They bonded quickly over the strange coincidence of two Hogwarts alumni ending up at such an obscure school, and quickly found they had more than just their alma mater in common. Hermione learned that Blaise was from a line of pureblood African wizards, but due to their race, his family was never fully accepted into the inner circle of the most prestigious English purebloods. Blaise said the Hat nearly sorted him into Ravenclaw, which would have made more sense to him, since he always thought he was too lazy to really be a Slytherin, and Hermione confided that she always believed she belonged in Ravenclaw, too. They found common ground in their mutual love for books and learning and spent many nights staying up late to study for exams. They didn't talk much about the past, knowing that the only way to keep sane was to keep their minds trained on the future. Both of them had traumas they had put to bed and neither wanted to dig them up, parse them out.

Their friendship never turned into anything remotely romantic, despite Ginny and even Harry encouraging Hermione to "put herself out there". After six months of school, Hermione found herself homesick and doubting her future in law, so she left the program and returned to London. After the war she wanted to run, run, run far away, but once she finished running and found herself on the other side of the planet she realized she couldn't heal if she wasn't home. When Blaise finished his accreditation and also returned to England, they resumed their friendship and Blaise was slowly welcomed into her larger friend group.

Blaise wasn't especially close to most of them, his connection being mainly with Hermione, but he also spent a considerable amount of time with Luna and Harry, who both took a liking to him. He was a serious man, his sense of humor dry and oftentimes difficult to discern, but he helped balance out the otherwise gregarious group and it was sometimes useful to have a unique point of view in the room. Which is what brought him to Harry's flat the day after Andromeda passed, when Harry discovered that he would be making a decision concerning one Draco Malfoy.

"Do you think we can trust him?" Hermione asked anxiously. She was sitting at one end of Harry's small kitchen table, Blaise on the other end, with Harry and Ron sitting between. It was her idea to invite Blaise over for tea to interrogate him about his childhood friend.

"I believe so," Blaise answered smoothly. "I wouldn't consider him my closest friend, but we keep in regular contact. I actually saw him a few weeks ago. He's living low. Doing his own thing. He's not much different than he was in school."

"That's not reassuring," Ron said. Always a reliable pillar in times of disorder, Ron had stepped up significantly in the past few days to support his best friend.

"I knew a different Draco than you did," Blaise explained. "He was always putting on airs around you lot, trying to puff up his feathers. In reality, Draco was always a little hesitant and insecure. Kid never got a break. You should have heard some of the Howlers Lucius would send to the Slytherin dormitories, the obscenities alone could make a grown man cry…"

Hermione sighed. She felt bad, but there were many people out there who had shitty parents and didn't turn out shitty themselves. She couldn't make excuses for his past, but a second chance wasn't _totally _out of the question. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry, who hadn't slept more than a couple of hours in the past three days, rubbed his eyes and leaned his head into his hands. "I'm not _opposed _to the idea… I'm just a little fearful of what it could mean to Teddy if Malfoy isn't committed to being part of all this. The last thing I want is someone else who leaves his life. The kid has been through enough."

"I can talk to him if you'd like," Blaise offered.

"Actually, I think I would prefer to meet him on my own terms. I don't want anyone getting in the way."

"Fair enough," Blaise agreed, leaning back in his chair. "I have to say, Potter, you're handling this all rather well. If I were in your shoes I think I would've gone temporarily mad, maybe even fallen off the face of the planet."

"Trust me, the thought has crossed my mind," Harry muttered.

Hermione sighed, leaned forward to place her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. "Why don't you bring Malfoy in to a formal will reading at the Ministry? That way everything is done on neutral ground."

"That's a good idea, Hermione," Harry said, smiling with weary gratitude.

"It's what I'm here for." Hermione reached for his hand, squeezed it gently. She knew her friend was hanging by his last thread, but if anyone could manage with just one thread, it was Harry.

* * *

_Malfoy-_

_Glad to hear you want to be in Teddy's life. Why don't you come by Wednesday evening, around 6? Address enclosed, Floo in please. You can meet Teddy and we can talk about things. _

_-H. P. _

Wednesday came too quickly. Draco woke up at eight, harnessed the dogs, and went for a ten mile run to calm his nerves. When he got back Missy had breakfast ready, but his stomach was turning. At least eat some toast, Missy chided, chasing him down the hall with a plate of bread and eggs.

He showered, closed his eyes and let the water wash the salty sweat off his skin, dressed himself, and tried to pass the time with a book, but his mind insisted on wandering, wanting to engage all his anxieties. Draco was most concerned about meeting on Harry's territory. He talked himself out of this worry by repeatedly calling himself a coward and pinching his wrist until a bruise began to blossom. He had a rule: if he could see a mark past his shirt sleeve, he had to stop. He broke the rule, but cast a charm to hide it. Was that cheating? He didn't care.

Finally the clock reached a quarter til, and he began pacing in front of the fireplace. There was a small pink tin on the mantle, a batch of snickerdoodle cookies Missy baked as a gift for Teddy. The dogs, astute to their master's anxiety and eager to help, paced along with him.

_Deep breaths_, he told himself as he watched the minutes pass by. Five fifty seven, five fifty eight, five fifty nine... One last pinch, then-

"Potter residence."

The Floo deposited him into a homely flat with large windows, the last remnants of the day's sunlight filtering into the kitchen. The walls were a cool gray, the decor simple and cozy. The most immediately noticeable feature of the flat was the large photo blowups on the wall: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, the Weasleys, Luna, Neville, and some of their other former classmates, all moving and smiling at him. It was an entire audience of unpleasantry.

"Malfoy? Is that you?" called a voice from another room.

He cleared his throat, but his 'yes' came out squeaky anyway. Harry came from around the corner with Teddy holding his hand. Draco was startled at how small he was- he forgot how fragile children were. The boy looked nervous about a strange tall man being in his home.

"Say hello to… Draco?" Harry said awkwardly. It was clear Harry hadn't had half the time Draco did to prepare for their meeting. It occurred to Draco for the first time that Potter probably had a nine-to-five. No wonder the man looked so exhausted.

"Hullo," said Teddy apprehensively.

Draco stepped towards him uncomfortably, not knowing what the protocol was with children. Should he hug him? Shake his hand? Then he remembered the biscuits Missy had baked for him. "Hi, Teddy. My name is Draco Malfoy. I've brought you some biscuits, would you like one?"

Teddy looked up at Harry for clearance, and grinned when his new guardian nodded. "Yes, please!"

Draco beamed inwardly and congratulated himself for asking Missy to bake the cookies. Teddy picked a cookie as big as his head and then plopped himself onto the carpet to eat it. Harry jerked his head to the side and Draco walked with him to the corner of the room.

"I told him you're one of his cousins, that your mum knew his grandmum. Didn't feel like I should go into too much detail."

Draco nodded. "So should I…?"

"You can talk to him. He has some, erm, toys and books and stuff in the guest room. I could bring some of them out for you."

Another nod. "So he's staying here with you and… your wife?"

Harry flushed red. "Ginny? No, she's not my wife."

"Oh. I didn't realize…"

"No, I mean, we're still together, but she's not my- we're not married. Well, we're gonna get married. Eventually. We were actually going to move in together but then all of this happened." Harry waved his hand towards Teddy. "Now I'm thinking we should get married soon for him, but that's not fair to Gin, and- well, you don't care."

"Oh," said Draco awkwardly. "It's a shit position you've been put in, all of you. And now, I guess, myself as well."

"You don't have to be here," Harry said, somewhat defensively.

"No, no, I want to," Draco said. He looked back at Teddy, who was almost done eating his cookie.

Harry fetched some of Teddy's dragon toys and situated them in the living room. "I"ll just watch from over here," he said, taking a seat on the couch a few feet away from Teddy. "This can be your test."

Draco scoffed and took the toys. _Test_. He was always good at tests, but he didn't like the idea of Potter being his proctor. He kneeled next to Teddy and tried to put on what he assumed was a gentle smile. He practiced in the mirror a hundred times over the weekend, testing to see how he could twist his face into the least threatening expression. "Hello, Teddy."

"Hi."

"I have some of your toys. Do you want to play?"

Teddy looked Draco up and down guardedly but his face lit up when he saw the dragons. "That's my dragon set!"

"Is it?"

"Yeah." He grabbed the set and began setting up his plastic dragons in order. "The blue one is named Bluey, and the red one is named Reddy, and the green one is named-"

"Greeny?" Draco guessed.

Teddy looked at him as if he were stupid. "No. It's named Ree-mus."

"Remus?"

"After my daddy," said Teddy solemnly.

Draco glanced back at Harry and instantly regretted it. The man looked on the brink of tears. Draco cleared his throat. "Well, that's a very nice dragon name."

"I know," said Teddy matter-of-factly. "Watch, if I squeeze it, fire comes out!" He squeezed and red mist came out of Bluey's mouth.

"Wow," said Draco flatly. He was always rubbish at feigning interest in things that didn't entertain him.

"_Look_," Teddy insisted, squeezing again.

"W_o_w," Draco said, this time with more emphasis on the vowel. Teddy seemed satisfied. "Are dragons your favorite creatures?"

"I also like fairies," he said thoughtfully. "The silver kind with fangs. And hipp-griffs. But only the nice hipp-griffs, because one time a mean hipp-griff tried to peck me in the face. Also one time I saw a giant squid but only the top of it, because the rest of it was under the water and I can't open my eyes under the water yet."

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "You can't? How unfortunate."

Teddy nodded solemnly. He picked up Reddy and then got a curious smile on his face. "Can you make him fly?" he asked innocently.

"The dragon?"

"Reddy," Teddy corrected. "Sometimes Uncle Ron will make him fly around the room super duper fast like this!" He made a whooshing sound and threw the figurine in the air.

"I'm not sure," said Draco. "Potter-?" He turned back around to see Harry knocked out cold, snoring lightly. He snorted. Well, if Potter wasn't awake to say no, Draco certainly wasn't going to be outdone by Weasley.

"Sure," he said to Teddy. He pulled out his wand and made the dragon float, then cast a weak Muffliato so they wouldn't wake up Harry. Teddy squealed with delight and reached up at the levitating dragon, staring in awe.

"You like that?" Teddy nodded vigorously and Draco felt a strange sense of accomplishment. The kid liked him and all it took was a _wingardium leviosa_.

"But," Teddy said, raising one of his eyebrows in a way that was comically mature for a toddler. "Uncle Ron always makes the wings flap, too."

"Does he?" Draco couldn't resist an opportunity to one-up Weasley. He focused, flicked his wand, and suddenly Reddy came to life- his wings flapped, his pupils moved, and his nose breathed out small puffs of smoke as he flew.

"Whoa," said Teddy, completely in awe. Draco smiled smugly.

"Can Weasley do _that_?"

Before Teddy could stroke his ego even more, the fireplace roared to life, and out stepped a bushy-haired witch with her eyes glued to a pile of paperwork.

"Harry?" she called out, then saw the dragon flying above her head, looked down, and frowned upon seeing Draco. "You're not Harry."

"Astute observation," he drawled.

Hermione Granger glanced at Harry, who was still slouched over asleep, and nodded in approval. "Good, he needed rest." Then she scowled in annoyance at the dragon and without even drawing her wand, made Reddy fall to the ground, eliciting an indignant 'Hey!' from Teddy.

"Did he convince you to make it fly? He knows he's not supposed to. Two days ago he broke a lamp trying to catch Bluey." Draco watched the young woman walk briskly to the dining table, where she put down her books, kicked off her sensible clunky black shoes, and began to massage her stocking-clad feet.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm here and threaten to hex me for breaking and entering?" Draco asked.

Hermione looked amused. "Harry told me you'd be here. We've all been told about you. Besides, I don't need to threaten you, I could have you out cold on the ground before you could say _pygmy puff_."

"That's presumptuous of you."

She cocked an overgrown brow and smiled in a wicked way he didn't recognize as Granger-like. "Luckily for me, my presumptions are usually accurate."

"Did you bring me anything, Aunt Hermie?" Teddy interrupted. Draco snorted and Hermione glared.

"It's Her-my-oh-nee," she corrected gently. Her voice turned chipper. "And of course I did! I brought you vegetable crisps."

Teddy looked disappointed. "What?"

"They're crisps, but made from veggies. Come try, you'll like them," she said as she procured a colorful bag from her purse. "God knows Harry hasn't been feeding you a balanced diet anyway."

Teddy took a seat at the table and hesitantly took a bite from a ruby red beet crisp.

"Good?" asked Hermione. He shrugged. It was funny how she spoke to him, as if he were just a very small adult man. "So how have you been, Malfoy?"

Draco was startled by how casually she was treating him, as if they hadn't gone their whole lives hating each other. "Um… I'm well."

"That's good. I'm well myself," she said briskly. "Overworked, but that's my own fault."

"What do you do?"

"I'm trying to start a nonprofit for nonwizard citizens."

"A nonprofit?" he asked, confused.

"Like a company, except it does charity," she explained. He thought the concept odd- he'd never heard of a nonprofit before. Must be some bleeding heart Muggle concept. "What do you do these days?" she asked.

He laughed, but she was very much serious. "I've been living alone in disgrace," he said flatly.

"Oh." She seemed surprised at his answer but not especially embarrassed for asking. "That sounds rather boring. Have you considered a career change?"

He blinked. "I..."

"Relax, I'm joking," she said with an eye roll. "Well, it makes sense that you should spend some time in disgrace. We all must pay penance for our sins."

Her attitude was surprising but refreshing- blunt, straightforward, fair. No pretenses. He hated pretenses.

"And do you think I've paid mine?" he heard himself ask. He was surprised, he usually was good at keeping his thoughts in his head.

She looked at him curiously. "I don't believe I know enough about you to make that judgement yet."

He felt uncomfortable under her gaze and changed the subject. "So do you live here?"

She chuckled. "I might as well these days. We've all been staying over to help Harry- me, Ginny, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys. But no, I have my own place. I'm considering moving closer so I can be of more help with Teddy but no solid plans yet."

Draco couldn't help but admire the dedication they had for one another and for the child. She was willing to up and move her entire life just to be closer to Potter. He didn't know anyone in his life would ever do such a thing for him. Even his own dogs might turn their backs on him if someone else offered them better treats.

He moved to pinch himself but stopped. Not in front of other people. That was the other rule.

Teddy was now done with his crisps and was holding the empty cellophane bag over his head. "More veggies!"

Hermione laughed, the sound high pitched but not entirely unpleasant. "You want _more_ veggies?"

"More veggies!" Teddy confirmed. Then he began to yell. "MORE VEGGIES! MORE VEGGIES!"

This combination of yelling along with the subsiding Muffliato charm must have awakened Harry, who sat up on the couch with delirious concern on his face. "Teddy? What's happened? Malfoy?"

"He's eating with us," called over Hermione. "Malfoy's over here, too."

Harry shot over in a panic and ran up to Teddy. He glared at Draco. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked tired. I didn't want to bother you so I cast a weak silencing spell…"

Harry's eyes darkened considerably and for once Draco saw how the man, despite his thin figure and ratty hair, might appear intimidating. "You thought I'd want you alone with him? Unsupervised?"

Draco's face flushed pink. "I knew you were tired and I knew I wasn't in need of supervision."

"Of course you are! You _know _who you are, right?"

"Harry," Hermione tried to interject, but the man raged on.

"I invited you here to see if I could trust you. That's something you have to _earn_. Just because we're playing nice with you doesn't mean you get all the privileges a normal person would."

Draco stood stalk-still. His wrist tingled, his nerves tense and coiled. Teddy, startled by his godfather's yelling, began to whimper. Suddenly Harry's face turned from rage to regret. The reality of his behavior was dawning on him. He'd overreacted.

"No, Teddy, don't cry- Malfoy, listen-"

"I think you've said enough," Draco said quietly. "I quite understand now that this was a mistake."

Both Harry and Hermione called out to him as he took measured steps to the Floo, but the angry ringing in his ears drowned them both out. There was only so much hate he could take before it, along with the self-hate he bottled inside, would drive him to insanity.

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_I know it may be inappropriate to owl you, I hope you don't feel this to be an invasion of your privacy, but Harry is a stubborn man so I've taken it upon myself to reach out to you._

_To keep myself from writing a novel here (as I'm allegedly prone to doing), I'd like to ask if we could meet in person to discuss your role in Teddy's life. Harry is deeply regretful of how he handled everything that happened. We want you to be part of all this if possible. Let me know of your availability. _

_All the best,_

_H. Granger. _

_PS: Teddy's been asking about the gray haired man who made the dragons spit real fire. It appears he likes you already. _

Draco almost threw away the letter just because the boy described him as _gray-haired_. He folded the parchment and placed it on the dining table with a shallow grunt. Missy set down a plate of biscuits and jam and peered nosily at the letter. It wasn't every day Draco received personal mail.

"Who is that from?"

"No one," Draco snapped, grabbing the paper and pushing it back into the envelope.

"You're lying to me," sang Missy sassily under her breath. Draco scowled. Being his only source of regular conversation, Missy was getting to know him too well.

"It's an old classmate of mine who wants to meet up. But I'm going to decline her offer."

Missy squealed so loud one of the dogs came running. "Oh, Master Draco, you _musts_ have her over. Missy never gets to cook for anyone but you and you's so _picky-_"

"Please-"

"Do it for Missy," she pleaded. Draco looked down at the elf, whose comically large eyes now appeared even larger, at her flour-marked smock, and remembered, ironically, something Granger wrote in a research magazine he often read.

_The concept of House Elf Liberation is often misinterpreted in a way similar to the way third-wave feminism has been misunderstood. It is not about telling elves what they do or do not want out of life, which is only further imposing wizarding desires. True liberation is about respecting _their _wishes, whether that be to serve a home or to be salaried employees._

"Fine," he said begrudgingly. "I'll invite her."

"Oh, thank you!" Missy threw her arms around Draco, who stood stock-still in discomfort. "Missy is going to make a roast and a salad and two puddings and three types of tarts…"

Draco was beginning to regret the day he'd hired the little elf. It dawned on him, as Missy continued rambling about her menu, that his home wasn't at all ready for receiving guests. He'd been living alone for so long that he forgot what a presentable home even looked like. His foyer was empty save for a key rack and an umbrella holder, his living room held only a couch and a small bookcase, and his dining room table was covered in some research notes and old paperwork. In fact, the only part of his house that didn't appear cold and clinical was Missy's territory- the kitchen.

He tried to remember what a normal home would contain- pictures, artwork, decorative books, trinkets. All of those things, which he considered extraneous, were back at the Manor stuffed into his closet. He looked sideways into the kitchen, where Missy was already monitoring three pots on the stovetop. It would be too much to ask her to gather his things at the Manor _and_ cook for tomorrow. And he knew it was high time he finally talk to his mother anyway.

* * *

"You never visit," Narcissa said icily. Her tone matched the room: freezing cold in both temperature and mood.

"I thought you'd be glad to see me," Draco countered. They were sitting at the dining room table, just the two of them. Lucius, as Narcissa explained away, was feeling "ill" and was resting. Resting being a euphemism for avoiding his son due to a complicated mixture of shame, resentment, and pity. That was fine, the feeling was reciprocated; Draco didn't want to see his father any more than his father wanted to see him.

The Malfoy Manor was no longer the prestigious monument to medieval wealth it once was. Many of the family's valuables, along with a significant portion of their overall fortune, were seized as part of their plea deal with the Ministry. Narcissa took the extra step to remove anything that reminded her of the time Tom Riddle lived in her home, which left very little left to absorb the gaping empty space in the Manor. Draco felt suffocated by the cavernous nature of the space, like it might suck him up and he'd disappear forever into the cobwebs and shadows.

It wasn't as if the Malfoys were destitute, but the family did have to readjust to a new lifestyle. The gardens were now a mess, overgrown since they stopped paying for a gardener. There were no more galas, no more fundraisers, certainly no more late night hushed meetings with dark, rich wizards. After Dobby, the family found a new house elf, a crabby but obedient elf with a potbelly and a penchant for burping at inappropriate times. Such behavior would've never been tolerated in the past, but since their fall from grace the Malfoys weren't nearly as concerned with posturing.

Narcissa was wearing silk pants and a blouse with a long emerald blue robe. Her hair, now snow-white, was pinned up in a soft bun. Her face was weary from stress more than age, and her mouth was twisted up longing and anger. Draco knew she wanted to be upset at him for not visiting more often, but her happiness to simply see him at all outweighed her frustration.

"Perhaps we could establish a regular time for you to visit. Every other week? Or once a month?" Narcissa offered the second option with a disapproving tone, subtly nudging Draco towards the first.

"I would be open to that," Draco said slowly. "We could discuss it."

"Unless you're busy?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. The elf had brought them a tray of tea but neither of them had touched it yet. Every conversation with his parents felt like a dance, and reaching for the tea first would be too bold a move. "Do you have a job now?"

He furrowed his brows. He'd been groomed from a young age to take over managing the Malfoy family assets, but since the war Lucius had maintained an iron fist over the few large assets that remained. Draco inherited his trust upon his seventeenth birthday and had invested most of it, and the interest was enough to maintain a decent lifestyle with change to spare. He was wealthy, sure, but didn't care enough to work towards building more wealth. If he had been a worse student or a lazier son, perhaps Narcissa wouldn't be on his case about getting a job, but she knew her son. She knew Draco had too much potential to sit idly by and watch his life play out around him.

Draco, on the other hand, hadn't yet come to the same conclusion about himself. Narcissa called it depression, Lucius called it indolence, Draco refused to call it anything, saying it really didn't matter either way.

"I don't," he muttered. It wasn't like he didn't _want _to be doing something with his life, it was that his options were woefully limited. Who would hire someone with his reputation? He'd been out of school for almost six years with nothing to show for it besides a few investments and his little side projects he did just to pass the days. He thought about going back to school, but what would he even study? Most days his brain felt full of fuzz, like he was drifting through life, performing the necessary motions and not much more. Like he was watching a play from far back in the nosebleed seats, vaguely aware that something was happening on stage but he couldn't quite focus in on it.

Narcissa wanted more for her son, he knew that. He didn't want to disappoint his mother, but most days the heavy blanket of the world was too suffocating to shake off. At least he wasn't galavanting around making their reputation worse. Stasis was comfortable, safe.

"So why _are_ you here?" Narcissa asked, sniffing.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you it was only to check in, would you?"

Narcissa jerked her head slightly, then finally reached for a teacup. "I heard about my sister."

Draco was silent. His mother's family was forbidden territory.

"I heard through the grapevine that Potter has taken in the child," she continued. The tea, kept warm via a heating charm, released delicate tendrils of steam that evaporated around her face. She prepared it the way she always did: dash of cream, no sugar. It rots teeth, she used to say. "I presume that's something to do with why you're here."

There was no use lying to his mother, who would learn the truth eventually. "Potter asked me to be in Teddy's life."

Narcissa's snake-thin eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

"The initial meeting didn't go well," he continued. "Granger- you remember her, the snotty one- is coming to my flat tomorrow to discuss how the arrangement might work moving forward. I came to collect some old things from my closet so my flat doesn't appear so... barren."

"You care what they think of you," she observed.

Draco declined to comment. She was right, she always was, but there was no need to acknowledge it aloud. It had been painfully clear to anyone watching that he cared what they thought about him from the moment he met them on the train. He thought- hoped- he'd outgrown it, but he was beginning to learn that yearning for approval wasn't something one outgrew. It was fundamental to being human, it morphed as one aged, took on new forms. When he was fourteen it took the form of _Potter Stinks_ buttons; at 23 it was the desire for a tidy and inviting flat. So much of his life was a performance. A one-man show starring Draco Malfoy, desperate for any sort of attention or praise.

"So now what? You're going to try to make amends with Potter and company?" Narcissa's tone wasn't judgemental, but curious.

"We'll have to be civil. For the child."

She took a long sip of tea. "And this is something you want?"

"Not like I have much else going on in my life," he said, afraid that he might be giving his mother a little too much ammunition against him. "And, you know, water under the bridge. All the bullshit the Ministry keeps pushing about unity and healing wounds has gotten to my head."

"I'm glad for you," Narcissa said honestly. Her fingers grasped lightly around her teacup. They were veiny and bonier than Draco remembered. In his mind, his parents looked the same way they did when he was five, and ten, and fifteen. Ephemeral, blurred, ageless. The moments when he zoomed in on the details- the gray hairs, liver spots, slow gait- made him confront the difficult reality of his parents' age. She would be gone someday, and then… then what?

"Well, I won't keep you long," she said, placing her empty teacup down on the tray. The pot-bellied elf tottered over to collect the dishes. "I hope you'll visit again soon."

Draco was surprised at how painless the entire visit had been. Maybe age had tempered his mother. "I'll come again in a week or two. We can talk about regular visits."

Narcissa smiled, a genuine smile, one that made her crow's feet spread to the edges of her face. It was pleasant, comforting. He smiled back, and then carried himself away to collect his things from upstairs.

_Miss Granger, _

_After much pressure from my house elf, I would like to extend an invitation to my home (not the Manor, as I'm sure you'll be glad to hear). Does tomorrow at noon work for you? I assume even you take a lunch break from work? _

_Best,_

_D. Malfoy. _

_Malfoy,_

_Tomorrow at noon works. Tell your elf I look forward to meeting them. _

_Best,_

_H. Granger _

* * *

a/n: thank you all so much for your support so far! i've been working on this story on and off for over two years and i'm so glad it's finally ready to share with the world. fanfiction has always been such a fun creative outlet for me, especially when i have writer's block with my original pieces. writing this story has been a particularly great outlet for me to play with the idea of romantic love, which i adore writing about but doesn't fit well into the other original work i'm writing. i'm excited so many of you are already along for the ride, and i can't wait to share how this story plays out! xx potato


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

By eleven o'clock the next morning, Missy had prepared a spread so elaborate Draco feared Hermione would be scared away by the extravagance of it all. It was enough food to nearly cover the entire dining table; it looked like Draco was preparing to host royalty.

"What in the hell am I supposed to do with all this food?" he asked, a little too aggressively.

"Eat it?" answered Missy sheepishly. "I mays have gotten carried away."

"You think?" Missy's ears dropped and Draco pinched himself. He was still feeling off after seeing his mother. Seeing his parents always threw him askew, tightened the knot in his gut. "Good work, though," he added somewhat apologetically. Missy perked up slightly and he left it at that.

Draco retreated to his room to change and found himself unusually at a loss for what to wear. He had dress robes for any court appearances and the rare occasion he ventured out on his own volition, and he had casual shirts for around the house and exercising, but nothing in between. Eventually he found a decently unwrinkled black button-up and matching gray indoor cloak just in time to hear Missy opening the door. There was a shuffle and then a dramatic gasp.

"Hello Miss! Master Draco didn't tells me that Miss Hermione Granger woulds be visiting! I thoughts this was just goings to be a regular visitor!"

Granger's voice came tinkling through, far gentler than he remembered. "Oh my goodness, I'm nothing special! But thank you, you're very kind."

Her false modesty irritated him. Everyone worshipped the ground she walked on, the ground she helped save from evil, and she should accept it. The opposite, as he could attest, was far worse.

When he exited his room to greet her, he was shocked to find her sitting squarely on his wood floor with one of the dogs flopped belly-up, head in Granger's lap, tongue lolling as she enjoyed a scratch. The other watched suspiciously from a distance while Missy clapped gleefully.

"They really likes Miss Hermione!"

Granger laughed and when she saw Draco's irritated expression, laughed even harder. "This one _really_ likes me- what's her- his?"

"Her."

"What's her name?"

Draco looked accusingly down at the dog who seemed to bask in her betrayal. "That one's Cassandra. The other is Benjamin."

Hermione broke out into harder laughter. "What sort of dog names are those?"

"Perfectly dignified ones," he said defensively. "I suppose you named your pets something demeaning like _Spot_ or _Buddy_?"

"No, but I certainly never went with _Cassandra_, either." She took Cassandra's muzzle in her hands and looked into her eyes pityingly. "I'll call you Cass."

"She doesn't care what you call her as long as you feed her and give her attention."

Granger stood and brushed dog hair off her gray slacks. Draco saw she was wearing the same sensible shoes she wore to Harry's flat. Her frizzy hair was braided back, exposing a freckle-sprinkled collarbone. Draco averted his eyes. "Shall we sit?"

"Sure." She looked around as he escorted her to the dining room. "I never would have pegged you for a dog person," she commented.

"Oh?"

"I always saw you as more of a cold-blooded man."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Cold-blooded as in myself, or my preference in pets?"

"Maybe both," she said with a teasing air of mystery one usually reserves for friends or at least acquaintances, neither of which he was. Her straightforwardness was a paradox, both familiar and disconcerting

"Master Draco likes many animals," Missy piped in as she followed them to the dining room. "Hes is a very nice man, even if hes is grumpy lots of the time."

Hermione smiled. "Is that so? I suppose I'll have to verify the truth of that myself."

"Missy never lies," she sang.

Draco gave his elf a dirty stare, but she avoided eye contact with him and turned to give a very overwhelmed Hermione a tour of all the food she prepared.

"Missy got a little carried away," Draco said. "We rarely have guests."

"I see," said Hermione. "Perhaps I could recruit her services for the next charity event I hold?" She winked at the elf, who nearly fell backward in glee. Draco was seriously beginning to regret inviting over the witch- she was like a fairy, enrapturing everyone around her and inadvertently making him appear darker in comparison. She was Glinda the Good Witch and he was one of Elpheba's flying monkeys. He cleared his throat.

"Missy, why don't you let Miss Granger and I speak privately now?"

Missy smiled toothily. "Of course! Enjoy your meal."

Draco finally turned to Hermione, who finally appeared slightly on edge without the company of the elf or the dogs. Clearly being in his sole presence was unnerving, even for someone as maddeningly diplomatic as Granger. "Please, take a seat," he offered.

She did, and politely loaded her plate with tarts and puddings and other treats. Judging by her choices, she had quite the sweet tooth. He noticed she made no effort to prevent a mess, preferring to dive right in and then quickly wipe the sides of her lips with a napkin.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Famished," she admitted.

"They don't let you eat at your job?"

"I'm my own boss. Sometimes I get too absorbed in my work and I forget to eat," she said sheepishly. He scoffed, amused.

"Typical."

"And you? I can't believe you're not obese with an elf who cooks this well."

"She only made all this because I told her I was expecting a guest. She doesn't get many opportunities to cook for other people."

He said this casually but Hermione averted her eyes pityingly. He looked down at his hands- he'd forgotten how casual conversation worked. He remembered now why he didn't wear this shirt, the sleeves were slightly too short and left his wrist poking out. He yanked at the fabric and looked back up. Granger was picking the crust off a cucumber sandwich. "She seems happy, though. It seems like she really likes you."

"One of few who do."

"I liked her smock," said Hermione conversationally.

"Pink's her favorite color."

"Teddy's, too." Ah, so there it was. The toddler-shaped elephant in the room.

"The boy likes pink?"

"Ginny's always made sure to emphasize to him that there's no such thing as a boy-color or a girl-color. But he's so fickle, I'm sure his favorite color will change soon."

"How has he been doing?"

"Good. _Well_," she corrected herself. A smile smile pushed up the edges of her lips. "He's doing as well as one can be in a situation like this."

"I won't apologize for what I did," Draco said, finally getting to the point of why she was there. "I acknowledge I probably should have woken Potter but there were no ground rules. Potter was so exhausted he fell asleep within five minutes of me meeting the child."

Hermione's smile grew. "It's funny. I think if you and Harry had met under different circumstances, you'd have gotten on well. You're both so stupidly stubborn."

"Oh? I always thought you were the stubborn one."

"No, I'm the one who'll never admit she's wrong."

"Because you're too proud?"

"Because I'm never wrong." She winked. It was alarming how she so willingly handed out gestures that he always thought were only offered amongst friends. It was dangerous. It made him let down his guard and that wasn't safe, especially around someone like Granger.

"Look, Harry knows he overreacted. But everything is couched in context. Think about this from his perspective- he's delusional from exhaustion, stressed out of his mind. He grew up with abusive guardians and he's terrified of doing anything that could possibly hurt Teddy. And on top of all that, you're not someone he can trust." She looked at him with big sincere eyes. "Blaise told us we could trust you to give you a second chance, but you can understand why we still might be on edge around you, right?"

He was flooded with shame, the feeling achingly familiar. "Right."

"He's extra protective of Teddy, that's all. Everything's been putting him on edge." She took a small bite of a tart and chewed with undignified vigor. "He regrets what he said to you, though, and how he said it. He says he'd like to let you try again."

"He'd _let _me," Draco said, snorting a little. This is what he had been reduced to. Still, he clung to his last bits of pride. "Well. Fine. I accept."

Hermione gave him an odd smile. "You know, I'm curious why you took Harry's offer to begin with. I wasn't even sure you'd be interested until we talked to Blaise about it."

He hated the idea of Granger and Potter consulting privately with his friend, all three of them debating in hushed tones about how deserving he was of redemption. "I'm not _heartless_," he said.

"I know that. But you seemed happy by yourself and no one's even seen you out and about in ages."

"Who said I'm happy?" The question escaped before he could think to stop it. Fuck. Hermione's eyebrows narrowed curiously.

"You wanted the company…" she said slowly.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," he snapped.

"I don't mean to," she said, all while eyeing him carefully nevertheless. Her features were gentle; he could feel the warmth of her gaze on his skin. He drew his eyes away.

"We're having a memorial this weekend," she said softly. "She's buried already- n all the chaos we couldn't hold a proper funeral. But we're all visiting the grave, bringing flowers, saying some words. Afterwards we're getting drinks, just the younger people: me, Ron, Harry, Gin, some of the others. You'll come." She said it as more of a statement of fact than a question or even an invitation, so he took it as such. He was going.

"What should I wear?"

"Anything but black, which might be difficult for you," she teased. "And bring flowers for the grave."

He nodded, wondering what sort of flowers were appropriate for a funeral. It was times like these he missed having his mother around.

"Well, I should get going," Hermione said, her plate left looking like a crime scene of a murder committed by a very picky child- all bread crusts and discarded olives. "I have to get back to the office- I've got so much filing to do."

"The great genius Granger spends her time filing?"

"Starting your own nonprofit isn't easy," she said wearily. "I can't afford to have a secretary quite yet and I couldn't ethically take on an unpaid intern…"

For the first time since she'd arrived, Draco noticed Hermione's tired eyes, pressed deep in her sockets from lack of sleep. Something on the cusp of sympathy welled in him. "Don't overwork yourself. That would be stupid."

She breathed a short laugh. "Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime."

Missy came and packed Hermione a giant to-go box, then led her to the Floo. The moment she left, Cassandra sat in front of the fireplace and whined.

"Am I not enough for you?" The dog looked at Draco woefully, answering his question with a small huff. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "I get it. Everyone loves her better."

* * *

"You redecorated," Andrew commented. Andrew Sohrab, Draco's assigned parole officer, was both bad cop and good cop rolled into one, a perfect combination of hardass and wiseass. He couldn't be older than 40 but carried himself with the lazy confidence of someone far his senior. He'd been in charge of Draco's transition to society since a year after the war. Draco's first parole officer, an elderly man with a hunched back and a disposition far too nervous for his choice of career, asked to be removed from his case after Benjamin snarled at him. Draco apologized, he trained his dogs well, but they were prone to aggression if they could sense someone didn't like their master.

The dogs liked Andrew, mainly because he brought them treats during his visits. Over the years Draco's relationship with Andrew evolved to a professional friendship, and Draco quite looked forward to his visits. Part of the Malfoy family's settlement with the Ministry, reached after a year-long court battle, was that Draco would be forbidden to leave Europe for five years, and during those five years he was required to have regular home visits by a parole officer. At first the visits were formal and interrogative, leaving Draco feeling exposed, dissected. Nowadays Andrew's visits felt like a mandatory check-in with an old acquaintance from school.

"I had someone over," Draco explained. "I wanted it to appear as if someone actually lives here."

"You never decorated for me," Andrew said, affronted. The two were sitting across the dining room table from one another, picking at the leftovers from Missy's feast. Andrew was wearing a black headwrap- Draco had never seen his hair. He didn't like headwraps, which reminded him of Professor Quirrell.

"Shows you how much I value your company then, huh?"

"Was it a woman?" Andrew asked with a suggestive look on his face.

"She was of the female variety, yes." Draco said. "But she certainly was not here in the capacity you're thinking. It was Hermione Granger."

Andrew's eyebrows shot up. "Hermione Granger? Here? At _your _home?"

"Hence the feast," Draco said, gesturing to the plates of food on the table. "My cousin, he's being adopted by Harry Potter, and… well, it's a very long story."

Andrew appeared blown away at this revelation. "This is interesting news. _Good_ news."

"Is it?"

"Of course. This is _something_, you know? Instead of all the nothing you're usually up to."

Draco stood up, walked to the bar on the opposite side of the room, and poured himself a healthy glass of whiskey. "Would you like any?" Andrew shook his head.

"You probably shouldn't be drunk in front of your parole officer," said Andrew.

"You think this will get me drunk?" Draco smirked. "I've built a strong tolerance, sitting around doing nothing else all day."

"_Has… alcohol… problem," _Andrew said, miming taking notes. "Got it."

"It is nice to have something happening," Draco confessed after taking a long sip. "Most days the list of reasons for me to get out of bed isn't very long. Now I have a reason to do something."

Andrew looked at him thoughtfully. "That's very self-aware of you. Have you finally gotten a therapist like I suggested?"

Draco scoffed and instinctually drew his left arm up in his shirt sleeve. Andrew knew many things about him, but the scars on his wrist weren't one of them. "I haven't. But I'll keep thinking about it."

This was a lie; Draco had no plans to go to therapy. Therapy sounded like his worst nightmare- having to discuss his deepest shames and anxieties with a _stranger_? While they sat and judged him and told him how to live his life without walking a single day in his shoes? He wasn't in denial, he knew he needed help of some kind. He had a psychopathic father and a mother with no backbone and a temperament as fragile as glass, he was recruited as a teenager into the wizarding equivalent of Hitler Youth, and he was pretty sure he had crippling depression and PTSD from the war. But that's what the elf and the dogs were for, right? He could still get out of bed, he wasn't suicidal, he was living a life. Maybe not the type of life he wanted to be living, but a life nonetheless. He didn't need therapy.

Then there was the problem of his wrists. That was the one thing he couldn't justify away or ignore. He told himself he didn't need help anymore- after all, he had gone from slicing to burning to pinches, and that was a feat in and of itself. But still, the fact he was knowingly inflicting pain upon himself was enough for him to know he had a problem.

He reached under the table and pinched his wrist, feeling a rush as the bruises that were already there lit up in pain, delivering relief to his brain. It was like the days in the dungeon when Goyle would bring pixie dust and they would cut it in lines, snort it, and then lay on the ground for hours in bliss. The first few seconds right after the dust hit his brain was like heaven. The pain he inflicted upon himself… well, it was the next best thing he'd found.

"That's great," Andrew said. "I'm proud of you, Draco. You seem to be doing great."

If nothing else, he knew he was faking it well. Narcissa raised him right.

* * *

_Celebrating the Loving Life of Andromeda Tonks_

_January 4, 1953 - September 20, 2003_

_You are cordially invited to the memorial service of Andromeda Tonks, to be held at Garden Memorial on Saturday the 4th of October, 2003 at 1:00 p.m._

_In memory of Andromeda's vibrant life, we request mourners wear nonblack attire. Please join us for a small gathering to share memories and celebrate the life of our beloved mother, wife, sister, warrior, and friend. _

Draco took it upon himself to fetch flowers for Andromeda's memorial instead of sending Missy to do it. He rarely went for outside excursions unless it was something Missy couldn't do for him, like walk the dogs or withdraw money from his account. For some reason, though, he wanted to pick the flowers himself. If nothing else, it would be something to talk about during Andrew's next visit. Andrew departed their last visit unusually optimistic about Draco's readjustment to the world, and Draco didn't want to disappoint him the next time he came around.

He stuck to Muggle stores, not yet ready to venture into wizard-heavy areas where the risk of running into someone he recognized was too high. Besides, Muggle flowers, magic flowers- they all served the same purpose. Draco lived in a secluded area by the beach just outside a small tourist town, the type of place old people went to retire and young couples came to vacation. There were lots of local small businesses enticing shoppers with local, handmade goods. He found a small flower and gift boutique attached to the outside of a grocery store manned by a thin old fellow with deep brown skin. Draco eyed the bunches of pinks and whites and yellows that bursted from hand-blown glass vases with heavy uncertainty. "Do you know the best type of flowers for a funeral?"

The shopkeeper looked at him with pity. "I can gather a bouquet for you. I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's not-" Draco was going to correct him, going to say that it wasn't _his _loss, that he couldn't claim ownership over it. But maybe he could. By transitive property, perhaps.

The shopkeeper put together a nice, if not a bit extravagant, bouquet of white blooms. Draco respected it- any smart businessman would take the opportunity to make a little extra money, especially if the customer looked like they had money to spare. And judging by Draco's clean-pressed clothes and expensive shoes, he was hardly hurting for cash.

Draco handed over a clump of Muggle money (too much, judging by the man's confused expression) and was waiting for change when a row of stuffed animals by the novelty card section caught his eye. There was a green dragon with yellow eyes and a smile void of fangs. Muggles always downplayed dragons- they were neither cuddly nor cute in reality. Nevertheless, Draco thought Teddy might like one.

"I'll take one of those stuffed dragons, too," he said to the shopkeeper, handing over another clump of change.

* * *

Saturday afternoon, Draco picked out one of his nicest navy blue button-up and gray slacks, the closest thing in his closet to "non-black attire." He fetched the flowers he purchased the previous day and wrapped a gift bow around the dragon's neck per Missy's suggestion. The funeral was a good distance away, as most things were now that he lived in such a remote area. Draco was given specific Apparition instructions and was already five minutes late. He hated being late but was afraid that if he showed up on time, he might have to make small talk with whoever would pity him enough to talk to him.

Once he finally worked up the nerve to leave, though, he found his feet glued tight to the floor. It occurred to him that he hadn't been to a funeral in over ten years. After the war too many had died for proper funerals, so there were mass memorials, none of which he had the guts to attend. The last funeral he'd been to was for his grandmother, and he'd been twelve at the time. He couldn't remember the etiquette, the proper topics of conversation. Plus, he would be surrounded by people who at the very least were indifferent towards him, and at the worst wanted to disembowel him. His only ally would be Granger, and he was fairly sure she'd only been decent towards him for Teddy's sake.

"Master Draco?" squeaked a shrill voice behind him. He sighed.

"Yes, Missy?"

"You haves to go now."

"Aren't _I _supposed to tell _you_ what to do?" he asked irritably.

"Yes, but I'ms supposed to takes care of you, and I won'ts enable your bad decisions!"

He turned around, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where did you learn the word 'enable'?"

"Missy isn't stupid!" the elf said indignantly, then lowered her gaze sheepishly. "And also Miss Hermione gaves me a pamphlet-"

"A pamphlet? About what?"

"Elf rights."

He groaned. Just what he needed. An elf who could represent herself in court. Is this what he was welcoming into his life now?

"Now gos!" Missy demanded, pushing him on his back thigh.

"Fine, fine." He begrudgingly drew his coat tight around himself and apparated from the spot. He always hated the feeling of Apparition, of his very atoms being ripped through space and re-arranged somewhere new. He landed under a tree, a small crowd mingling a few meters away. The sky was gray and the weather windy. The trees were melting from green to red, a few of them already shedding their leaves, ridding themselves of extra weight before the heavy frosts began. He checked his watch. 5:08.

He approached the crowd with hesitation, looking for curly brown hair in the mix. He found her whispering with a tall bespectacled man- Potter. He stopped a few feet away and coughed. The both turned.

"Oh, Malfoy!" Hermione said with mild surprise. Oh, fuck, was he not supposed to come? Was it a courtesy invite? Had it all been a joke? He was reaching for his wrist when she smiled, small but sincere. "Good to see you."

He relaxed. "My apologies for being late."

"Late?" Potter checked his watch. "It's only nine past."

"Any event in which the Weasleys will be the majority of attendees always starts 15 minutes past the scheduled time," Hermione explained.

"Oh. I see."

"So this whole thing shouldn't be more than an hour. We're just taking turns saying some words and sharing stories."

Draco reached into his coat and pulled his flowers from a small charmed pocket. "I brought these." As he brandished them, he realized how exorbitant they were compared to the others.

"Oh, they're lovely," said Hermione, taking them from him. As she did, her thumb brushed against his pinky finger, rough from the cold but still warm. She went to place the flowers at the tombstone with the others, leaving Draco with Harry.

"I, erm, I brought this too." Draco held out the stuffed dragon, its goofy smile looking entirely out of place at a graveyard. "For Teddy."

Harry frowned and for a moment Draco thought he'd somehow fucked up. "That's… really nice," he said slowly.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of kindness."

"Give me a moment, I'll grab Teddy." Draco watched Harry approach a group of redheads. The shortest one, a young woman with long auburn hair- Ginny, he assumed- was holding the boy on her hip. Harry turned and pointed at Draco, which spurred two very different responses: Ginny narrowed her two brown eyes and scrunched her small nose in distaste, while Teddy threw his hands up happily. "Draco!"

Ginny put down the boy, who barreled over. He was wearing a small red suit with elastic pants and miniature suspenders. Draco knelt down and held out the dragon. "I brought this for you," he said awkwardly.

"A dragon!" marveled Teddy, as if he didn't already own a small army of toy dragons. "Wow."

"I'm very sorry about your grandmother," added Draco. He wasn't sure how many comforting words he was supposed to offer a four-year-old orphan.

Teddy sobered, hugging the dragon close to his chest. "I miss her."

"I'm sure you do."

"Harry says she's in there." He pointed to the grave. "But also up there." He moved his finger up towards the sky where gray clouds mixed with the white sky like dirty bathwater circling the drain.

"Oh. Well, um, when people die, they get to be many places at once."

"Really? How?"

"Um," Draco faltered. He looked around for backup and was relieved to see Hermione walking back. She was wearing a boxy floral skirt and satin blouse, her shoes sensible, her stockings thick. She beamed at Teddy.

"Now where did you get that dragon?"

"Uncle Draco!" proclaimed Teddy. Hermione looked up in surprise.

"Spare me the shock, Granger. I'm not heartless."

"_Well_," she said to Teddy. "That was very nice of him. Did you say thank you?"

"He doesn't have to-"

"Yes," Hermione interrupted in an aggressively polite cadence. "He does. We're learning manners."

"Thank you," said Teddy, holding his arms out halfheartedly.

"What's he doing?"

"Thank you hug," explained Hermione. "He hates them, but we're working on it."

"Well, that works out because I hate hugs, too," Draco told Teddy, who dropped his arms in relief.

"They're yucky."

"Indeed they are," Draco commiserated. "Perhaps you and I can bond even more over our mutual disdain for vulnerable displays of emotion."

Teddy cocked his head in confusion and Hermione, grinning even as she rolled her eyes, grabbed the boy's hand. "The ceremony is about to start. We should go."

Draco followed her to the large group of people gathered around the grave. He lingered on the outskirts, fiddling with his watch, observing those in attendance. There were many familiar faces: Longbottom, Lovegood, Brown, Chang, Finnegan, Thomas. Once upon a time, he would have sneered at them all, perhaps thrown a low-brow insult or two, threatened a hex. Now he watched meekly from the outside, waiting for a cue to engage, a bone to be tossed his way. Oh, how the tables turn, how the mighty fall. That is, if he was ever really mighty to begin with.

One by one, friends and family took their turns remembering Andromeda. Some shared anecdotes, others heartwarming stories, other simple memories. He thought he'd have been bored listening to it all, but he found himself practically drinking the information in. It was here, at her grave, by the mouths of strangers that he learned who is aunt was. By their accounts, she was a gentle woman, loving and kind. She was traditional- there was no erasing that regal Black blood- but also fierce and strong. She was self-sacrificing until the very end, always jumping at the chance to serve others. She was the most Hufflepuff-like Slytherin anyone had ever met. He tried to picture her in his mind's eye, but couldn't. He regretted, for the first time, never getting to know her.

After nearly an hour and a half, Harry took the stand with Teddy at his side. Draco was impressed by Teddy, who bore an appropriately solemn expression. As a toddler, Draco knew he would never have sat through a 90 minute affair with such good manners. Harry, on the other hand, was a little more disheveled, with eyes bloodshot red from crying. Suddenly, Draco felt resentment bubble in his chest towards the man. Of _course_ Harry Potter got to speak last, everyone pitying him and his tears, admiring his bravery for taking in an orphan boy.

But that was _Draco's _blood in the grave, _Draco's_ blood gripping Harry's leg for comfort. It should be _him_ who was mourning the loss, taking in the child, being comforted for the loss of his aunt. In another life, he wouldn't be the outsider at a Black funeral.

But in another life Teddy wouldn't be an orphan, because in another life none of this would have happened and Draco would be off living his days like any other Pureblood bachelor, spending money without a care in the world. But he wasn't living in another life. He was here.

Draco's thumb and index finger crawled up his jacket to grip his wrist. He shook his thoughts away and tried to focus on what Harry was saying.

"Andromeda was taken from us too soon, just like many of the people we knew and loved. I'll miss her dearly- all of us will. She represented comfort and joy and that's something I definitely took for granted. But I don't want to spend this moment mourning her loss. She would have rolled her eyes at the idea of us sniffling and crying over her passing like this. She'd want us to have fun celebrating her life and to gain something from the time we spent with her.

"For me, the thing I learned from Andromeda was resilience. She was outcast from her family, then had her husband, child, and son-in-law stolen from her. Nevertheless, she persisted. She took in Teddy without hesitation and her door was always open after the war when we all needed a place to regroup or recover.

"I think everyone here can attest to Andromeda's resilience and owe to her at least a fraction of their own survival. Now, I'm trying to draw upon Andromeda's strength and fearlessness and I take in my wonderful godson. But I know I shouldn't be afraid- I have everyone here who will also be taking him in in some way or another. They say it takes a village to raise a child, and Andromeda built the best village I could hope for.

"So I think we should all raise our wands to the woman who inspired us all, who build this magnificent village." He raised his wand, which glowed yellow at the tip amongst the gray sky. "To Andromeda!"

D kept his wand in his pocket, unsure if he was really part of this 'village' of which Potter spoke, but he murmured along with the crowd anyway: "To Andromeda."

* * *

After Harry's speech, the crowd of attendees mingled, greeting and comforting one another, offering brief consolations. Draco moved to the side under a large oak tree and pretended to be engrossed in a spider weaving its web in the tree bark, its long black legs performing a dance in the sky.

"Malfoy?" a voice interrupted him.

He turned around to see a man who had all the key markings of a Weasley, but looked much too cool to actually be one. His long hair, earring, leather jacket, and vicious cheek scar stood in stark contrast to his ginger coloring and heavy freckles.

"Hello," said Draco hesitantly.

"I'm Bill. Weasley." Bill offered no hand to shake, instead keeping them tucked cooly in his jacket pockets.

"Oh. Um, it's good to meet you."

"Hermione warned you might be here," Bill continued, his face void of emotion. Draco began to feel uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry if I'm not wanted… I can leave…"

"I was attacked the night you let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts," Bill said with a low, monotone voice. "That's where I got this nasty fucker." He pointed to the deep knotted scar on his cheek.

Draco felt bile rising in his throat. "That Greyback is a bitch, no?" Bill asked.

Draco nodded hesitantly. He must have appeared terrified, because Bill thawed slightly, even chuckling. "You lot never were so tough when you didn't have the upper hand, huh? Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. Harry's all about second chances, so I hope you prove yourself with yours." Bill turned to leave, then stopped and spoke once more. "Don't leave just because you're unpopular. If you run away, it'll only prove what we already think about you."

Bill left Draco stunned in his wake, half indignant, half ashamed. He would have left but Bill was right- that would only play into what they thought of him, and he was too spiteful to allow that. But what if this was their plan? To manipulate his emotions until they could play him like a puppet. Worst part was, it would work. Damned if he left, damned if he stayed. Bloody _fucking _Gryffindors.

He reached for his wrist and pinched so hard he drew blood.

* * *

Draco locked himself in the closest bathroom stall to clean his wound and splash some water on his face. The water was freezing cold, numbing his fingers.

When he stepped out of the loo he was cornered by a very concerned Hermione Granger. She now had on a thick knit scarf wrapped tight around her neck. "You're shaking like a leaf."

Draco stuffed his hands into his pant pockets and tried to calm himself. "I'm just cold," he said unconvincingly.

"I saw Bill introduced himself. That probably didn't go well."

"Well, I did apparently let a werewolf maul his face."

Hermione grimaced. "You'll find most of the Weasley family are less than pleased with us inviting you." As if reading his mind, she added. "There's a lot of leftover hostility, but time heals all wounds."

Draco shook his head. "But what about you? Why are you being so nice to me?"

She blinked. "I didn't really consider treating you any other way. I suppose I would be justified in cursing you out, and I probably would enjoy it, too, but what's that going to solve? Besides, I've got enough going on. I can't waste my time being mad at you. Frankly, it's not worth it."

Her blunt honesty somehow eased her anxiety. "What if I wanted you to curse me out?"

"You _want _me to yell?"

"Yeah. All of you, actually. Not here, of course, but sometime. It would make me feel better, like I was at least somewhat punished. Clean slate or whatever."

She quirked an ungroomed brow. "Are you some sort of masochist?"

"Sure. Something like that."

"Well, such an event could be easily arranged at some point, but I think for now coming out to drinks with us would be a little more appropriate."

Draco had momentarily forgotten about drinks. He was planning on making a quick slip away with a lame excuse but now, with Granger waiting on him to agree, he wasn't sure how feasible leaving would be. "I'm not sure I'll be welcomed there."

"You won't be," she said honestly. "But there's only one way to change minds, and it's not by running back to your home and hiding there indefinitely."

He squared his shoulders, clenched his jaw. She looked behind her shoulder at the thinning crowd, her leg bouncing impatiently. "I won't wait forever. Come on." She jerked her heads towards the others instructively and started to walk off, and against his better judgement, he followed.

* * *

a/n: i hope the length of this makes up for it being a little late! i welcome your thoughts, as always. i always wonder how the weasleys would feel about old pureblood families after the war. i think of all of them, george and bill would be the most resentful of draco as an extension of their feelings towards world he came from. thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

a/n: this one is late because these scenes were originally very different. i didn't like the flow of the first few drafts so i basically rewrote half of this and parts of it just REFUSED. TO. BE. WRITTEN. and then i was just being crazy about it. now that i go through these drafts, i'm worried that might be the case for other chapters as well. sorry in advance!

* * *

Chapter Four

There were seven people going out with them: Potter, Weasley (the original), Weasley (the grumpy female version), Weasley (the earless twin version), Granger, Lovegood, and Longbottom. Draco watched from a short distance as Hermione broke the news about their eighth guest. Slowly, fourteen eyes shifted to where he stood, bearing varying degrees of disapproval. Potter motioned for him to come closer, and like an obedient puppy, he obliged.

The twin Weasley- George, if he remembered correctly- was carrying Teddy on his shoulders. "Malfoy," he greeted, much less coolly than his brother, but still leaps and bounds from welcoming. "Teddy likes the dragon." Above his head, Teddy was vrooming the stuffed animal in the sky with glee.

"I'm glad."

Lovegood held out a hand but not in the way one would if they expected a shake: she held it out limply and when he grasped it, she squeezed firmly. "Your pulse is racing," she observed. "You can calm down. No one here wants to hurt you- except the ghosts, maybe. We really should get out of this graveyard, I'm beginning to think we've overstayed our welcome."

Longbottom didn't say anything to Draco, just gave him a brief, blank look, and then turned to Ron. "We're going to Fourth Peak, yeah?"

He grunted. "They have that deal on Wednesdays. Four pounds a pitcher."

Draco had heard of this place. It was a magic establishment but was decorated and operated like a muggle bar. Magic wasn't allowed by anyone but the waiters, they used real electric lights (which were rapidly popularizing in the wizarding world anyway), and they did all their transactions in Muggle money. There was a currency converter that would spit out Muggle paper bills for a 2% fee outside the bar, according to some bloke Draco overheard in line last time he went to the apothecary. Draco himself hadn't ever been to the place. He thought the immediate post-war embrace of Muggle culture was contrived and tacky-cultures don't change overnight. Or maybe they did, and he was too blind to see they had simply left him behind.

Once Teddy was handed off to his Uncle Arthur, the group took off towards the bar, which was only a ten minute walk away. They all fell naturally in line while Draco stalled in the back and busied himself with picking at a nonexistent hangnail. Hermione was in the front with both the male Weasleys, Potter and his girlfriend were side by side, and Longbottom and Lovegood made small talk in the back. Draco was thinking of a way to stealthily charm himself ill so he could escape the supreme awkwardness of it all, but then Luna drifted behind slightly and fell in step with him.

"You're uncomfortable," she said, her voice musical and lilting.

"What, is it obvious?" asked Draco sarcastically. "And they always said you had your head in the clouds."

Luna's eyes grew uncharacteristically sharp. "I've grown up since Hogwarts, you know. I'm not completely oblivious to when someone's being cruel to me."

Draco was taken aback, but didn't miss a beat. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that."

She tilted her head to the side, looking him up and down. Luna had a way about her that made it feel like she wasn't paying attention but at the same time you knew she could see into the very depths of your soul. "You've grown, too. You look different. Tired."

"My house elf calls me a _bad sleeper_."

"No, tired like... weary," she corrected. "Like you've given up."

"You mean my general aura of cynicism and frustration? That's been around for awhile. You'll get used to it."

Luna smiled at him, and then her gaze shifted to just above his head. Her smile turned into a knowing smirk. "I see why. I can read it in your genie aura."

"My what?"

"Your genie aura. Have you rubbed any old lamps lately? Sometimes one can accidentally release a genie and it sticks around for awhile. You can read one's thoughts by sensing their genie aura." She pointed up and circled her finger above his forehead. "Yours is red and fuzzy. It means you have unresolved anger in here." She tapped her chest with a nail painted electric yellow and looked at him like she had it all figured out.

"Ah," Draco said. "_Right_. My genie aura."

* * *

"There's a dedication for the new fountain outside Gringotts next Saturday morning," Harry said from the right most side of the booth as he poured himself a glass from a pitcher of beer. "I can't make it, I have an appointment with Teddy's Medi-witch. Ron?"

"It's a _fountain. _Why do they need someone there?" Ron complained. He was on his third glass, his inhibitions far gone.

"It's a fountain with a statue of the dragon _you_ broke out of the bank," Neville said. "It's sort of in your honor."

"Hermione, you do it," Ron said, his mouth full of french fry.

Hermione, nursing a glass of wine instead, thought for a moment and then nodded. "I don't think I have any plans until noon. Just owl me the details, Harry, and I can be there."

"Perfect- thanks Hermione."

The group was settled into the largest booth in the bar tucked away towards the back. Draco was on his second glass of beer and was dying for something stronger to save him from the discomfort of the situation. Unfortunately, no one else was partaking in hard alcohol, and he didn't want to be the only one throwing back shots.

He was sitting on the outer edge of the booth next to Lovegood, who had entertained him the entire walk over with a lesson on genies. "They're incredibly powerful," she explained. "But nearly the entire population was wiped out during the Great Rust of 1689. It contaminated eight-seven percent of all genie bottles. All that magic, and a little iron oxide is their downfall." But now Lovegood was wrapped up talking to Harry about a trip to go faerie hunting with Teddy, and Draco was left awkwardly staring at his thumbs.

It was Neville, interestingly, who would first pick up on Draco's discomfort. "So, Malfoy," he said from across the table, leaning forward on his elbows. "What are you up to these days?"

"Not much," Draco said. He racked his brain for something else to say, but his normally quick qit was woefully out of practice and he came up blank. When it came to Neville, his mind instinctually went to insults, a leftover knee-jerk reaction from school.

Neville looked away awkwardly and gave Hermione a quick glance that Draco wished he hadn't seen. They were communicating about him with their eyes, he knew it. He finished the last of his glass and went to pour himself another.

"I found out Malfoy has dogs," Hermione piped in, her voice high. He couldn't tell if she was trying to help him out or make fun of him. "Two little puppies."

Maybe both. "They're not puppies," Draco quickly defended. "They're fully grown, respectable dogs."

George laughed. "Fully grown what, though? I'm picturing two little poofy pomeranians."

"No no- they're little chihuahuas, yappy and smug," Ron guffawed.

"They are _rottweilers_," Draco emphasized. "Certified purebred."

"Those dogs aren't purebred," Hermione said. She took a sip of her wine.

"What?"

"They're not purebred," she repeated casually. "Whoever sold them to you lied."

Draco put down his drink, confused. "What do you mean? How would you know that?" The whole table was looking at Hermione curiously now. She shrugged, shrunk into the booth a little.

"I didn't mean to offend. It's just- their coat. It's far too soft and thick to be rottweiler fur. I would guess they have some German or Australian Shepherd in them."

Draco blinked, surprised. The fact itself didn't bother him, but he didn't like that he'd been conned. This felt like a test, and so he thought for a moment before replying: "Well, at least they're not pomeranians."

George chuckled at this, which made Ron also offer a snort, and Draco smirked. Hermione finished the last of her glass and gave Draco a teasing look. "You're not disappointed your dogs aren't as pure as you?"

"You'd be surprised how impure the Malfoy family tree really is," he admitted. "We were infiltrated by some outsiders over the years."

"Is that why you're so weird and moody and pale? Because your breeding was off?"

He gave her a smile, rewarding her for her wit. "The first two, yes. The last is from never leaving my house."

She laughed and then suddenly they were all having a conversation about dogs and which breed was best, and a few of them even looked at him like he was part of it all. It was strange, to feel part of it after training himself to resent it.

A few of them- the Weasleys, namely- were still a bit cold, which almost felt better to him. Familiar, if nothing else. Still, he tried to acclimate, even adding a chuckle or nod and even a grunt of affirmation. He reached a pleasant level of buzzed that carried him through the rest of the afternoon.

He learned a lot about them over the many pitchers of beer they drank their way through- that Longbottom was studying in a laboratory distilling botanical compounds for condensed potion concentrate, Lovegood was working on a documentary about magical microorganisms, and the female Weasley was a semi-professional Quidditch player. She showed off several bruises up and down her left arm that looked strikingly painful against her pale skin, each one a different shade of purple or blue. He was surprised at the dynamics of the group- he always thought Harry would take up the most space, but he tended to retreat and let others inflate to fill the room. But when he did speak they listened in the way people only do when they respect what you have to say- with quiet reverence and attention.

Had anyone ever listened to _him_ that way?

Eventually Hermione declared that the group couldn't possibly finish another pitcher and the group staggered out of the bar, sluggish and wincing at the light outside. Almost immediately after turning the corner they ran into Molly Weasley, who looked frazzled and defeated.

"Harry," she said, running up to the de facto front man of the group. "Teddy insists that he picks up his green blanket from your flat. Can we fetch it quickly? He won't stop crying and Arthur is at his wit's end..."

"Hey, Mrs. Weasley- um, yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair and he moved to leave. "Gin, can you come? I need to talk to you about the thing on Tuesday- oh, wait!"

He stopped and looked back at the rest of the group, which was moving to disperse. He was like the lynchpin, without him they fell apart. "Don't forget dinner tomorrow," he said cheerily. "We're gonna talk about Teddy's schedule."

Draco must have looked confused because Molly gestured at Harry to go without her and then pulled Draco to the side. "Sorry," Molly said. "I just wanted to catch you before you left."

"That's alright," he said. He stood a good eight inches above the stocky witch, but there was something uniquely powerful about her. He remembered that this was the woman that killed his aunt- this woman with gray hair and glasses who was wearing a patchwork dress, was the one who took out his psychotic and murderous aunt. He wondered if Molly knew how grateful he was for that.

"Listen," she said gently. Her tone was kind but strained, as if it was taking an immense amount of effort to talk to him. "I know there is some unresolved tension between all of us. But since you're going to be part of Teddy's life, I want us to try to build a healthy relationship. Every Sunday, we hold a big dinner at the Burrow, and Harry mentioned he might want you to come to tomorrow's since we'll be discussing how to divide up Teddy's schedule. Harry said you're committed to being in this with us, and so I want you to know I'm glad to have you."

He was taken aback by her offer. The… _Burrow_? "Oh," he said. "Um, sure."

She smiled and it was like a warm ray of sunshine. "Wonderful. Tomorrow at 6 PM. No need to bring anything besides yourself."

"Right," he said. "Thanks."

She patted him again on the arm. "Have a good evening," she said before turning back to Apparate to Harry's flat.

Draco, slightly bemused, turned back to the group. They were dispersing, so he quickly and quietly Apparated home. Cassandra and Benjamin were waiting at the hearth for him. He knelt to the ground to pet them. Sunday dinners. Interesting. He could definitely fit that into his schedule.

Cassandra stood and licked his face forlornly, as if she could tell something was changing and he needed comfort. He pulled a treat out of his pocket- he had grown used to carrying them just in case- and gave one to each of them. He gave them both a pat on the head and then excused himself to bed.

* * *

Just under a year ago, Draco woke in the morning to find himself covered in blood. When he came to he screamed so loud Missy came banging on the door, but he yelled at her to go away, that he was fine.

The sight of all the blood brought a flood of flashbacks. At first all he could see was bodies. The body of the Muggle studies professor from school on his dining room table, the same table where he used to eat Christmas dinner. The body of the first prisoner Voldemort killed in their basement, the carcass left for him to dispose of. Then he saw the body of Fred Weasley, gaunt and lifeless, strewn onto the floor of the school where he grew up.

After he finished screaming he had the sense to clean the blood from his sheets. He tried to spell it away but he couldn't get the words right, the syllables fumbling on his tongue. So he fetched a sponge from under the sink and scrubbed until his wrists began to ache and he couldn't feel his fingers.

The scrubbing only seemed to make the stains worse, and finally he sat back and did what he was dreading all along-looking.

He assessed the damage: long, thin slits cut clean through his marbled skin like knife punctures in a white tapestry. Each one was several centimeters at least, and a few in the center were deep enough that they were still weeping fresh blood. How had he not woken up from the pain? How was he able to do this to himself in his sleep? He thought he had stopped. In fact, it had been so long since he knowingly sliced himself that the first scars were finally beginning to fade, the blessing of being young: his body was still forgiving, able to wipe clean the nasty evidence of his weakness.

He felt faint and quickly bandaged himself so he could eat something. Missy left out a plate for him on the kitchen table. He could see her outside clipping the hedges so he buried himself in the newspaper as he wolfed down an omelette. He browsed the classifieds, pretended to be interested. He knew Missy would be peeking around the corner to check on him. He mindlessly circled ads as if he might come back to them. There was one he circled that read: "TWO ROTTWEILER PUPPIES, NINE WEEKS, FIXED. CALL TO INQUIRE."

Later that night Missy, after doing her evening sweep of the kitchen, would place the classified section of the newspaper by the fireplace where Draco liked to read before bed. The rest of the paper was in the bin. Two days later she would be squealing by the fireplace as two very rambunctious puppies competed to lick her face.

_Theys will be good for you_, she told Draco approvingly. _Theys will keeps you busy_.

That day wasn't the last time Draco harmed himself, but it was _one_ of the last times. He learned that pinching helped and over time he replaced one vice with another. It was funny, how each time he tried to quit he believed that time was the real last time. Part of surviving alone in the world means you have to keep faith in yourself, because there's no one else out there who will. But then there would be a last time one day, and so in a way wasn't he always right to believe?

* * *

Draco paced his room anxiously. What was the appropriate attire for one to wear to a family dinner with the _Weasleys_? It was a silly dilemma to have, he only really had four or five outfits to choose from anyway, but he didn't want to be underdressed. _It's always better to be over than underdressed_. One of the better lessons his mother left him with. But they called their own home a _burrow_.

Eventually he settled on a robe over a pair of black pants and a button-down shirt. The robe was made of a dark velvety material that was both black and blue in hue at the same time, which gave him an ethereal look he rather enjoyed.

"Alright, Missy, I'm off!" he called out as he steeled himself in front of the fireplace for the Floo trip.

"Okays!" she called back from another room.

With a deep breath and a silent prayer to the gods, he threw some powder into the fireplace and fell into a chaotic scene: a crowd of people everywhere, at least a dozen separate conversations going at once. Two purple fluff balls were jetting across the small living room. The Burrow was similar to the Manor in that it made him claustrophobic, but in an entirely different way: where he felt suffocated by the emptiness of the Manor, he felt condensed and warmed by the business of the Burrow.

"Bloody- ow!" Draco cried as one of the purple balls whizzed past him, clipping his ear in the process.

"Oh, sorry, Malfoy!" Ginny said. She was sitting on one of three mismatched couches beside two of her brothers. She whistled and the puff balls zipped to her and sat side-by-side on her left shoulder, purring slightly. "They're my Pygmy Puffs."

"Right," Draco said, brushing off his robes. Were those _sparkles_ they were shedding?

Harry approached him and nodded. "Great, you're the last one here. We can get started now." Before Draco could say anything, Harry turned and shouted into the kitchen: "We're good to go!"

From the kitchen came the loud clanging of a bell, and suddenly everyone began to clamber into the dining room, falling into chairs like soldiers falling in line. Draco trailed awkwardly behind and slipped silently into a chair on the emptier end of the table, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone there. The house was all shades of burnt orange and light brown, earthy and warm, full of knickknacks and gadgets. Atop the hutch Draco saw a small metal monkey clanging miniature cymbals together and draped across one of the windows was a birthday banner gathering dust. The Burrow walked the line well between cozy and musty.

"You made it," said a familiar voice from above him.

He looked up and there she was, wearing a cozy knit jumper and- was that lipstick? On Granger? "Hi," he said.

She pulled out the chair next to him and he felt a lump in his throat. Fucking nerves. He pinched his wrist lightly and then quickly raised his arms onto the table to avoid temptation.

"I'm glad you came," Hermione said. She looked over him and waved at someone- it was Neville, who took the seat on Draco's other side.

"Malfoy," he greeted, his tone clipped. He was also wearing a jumper- perhaps Draco did overestimate the dress code- and Draco noticed for the first time that Neville's baby fat had long melted away. In fact, he was sporting the beginnings of a beard. "You came."

An observation and nothing more. He wondered the tally of how many people at the table were irate at his daring to infiltrate their Sunday tradition. Granger, though, seemed genuine when she said she was glad he came.

"How did you like the pub from yesterday?" she asked him as she piled steamed vegetables onto her plate.

Draco picked up his own plate- none of them matched, his sported a painting of an orange tabby cat- and hesitantly picked at some sort of roast. "I liked it," he lied. "Not really my taste but not bad."

"What's your taste? Upscale, the type of place with sharp edges and thin flutes?" she teased. "The type of place that has a door in the back that only opens for wealthy white men?"

"You're stereotyping," he sniffed. "Think mahogany countertops, classic glassware, warm lighting."

She looked at him like he was an amusing piece of art. "Hm."

The room was lively, everyone chatting with one another while Mrs. Weasley set the table. She made eye contact with him as she put down a cranberry walnut salad and gave him a brief smile, not lingering any longer than she had to.

As they settled Draco counted them off. There were the Weasley parents, of course, seated at the head of the table. Teddy was seated between them, happily stuffing his face with mashed potatoes and sausage. He seemed blissfully unaware of the fact they were all there to divy up his life between them. Draco didn't know enough about children to know if he was old enough to know they were all talking about him. Draco missed the days when he was too young to track an adult conversation for long enough to know what was going on, when the hushed whispers between his parents at breakfast didn't concern him, and the world was only as big as he could comprehend it to be.

The Weasel himself was next to his sister and Potter. There were other Weasleys, too: George, the remaining twin, Charlie, the one Draco knew worked with dragons, the uptight one whose name was escaping Draco, and the one with the scar who approached him at the funeral- Bill. He was next to Fleur Delacour, who Draco couldn't forget from his fourth year. She was gorgeous in a timeless way, her very aura glowing and effervescent. Between the two of them was a high-chair holding a fat gurgling baby with curly white hair and the same glowing skin as her mother.

Aside from the Weasleys, Neville and Luna were also present, as was a woman Draco assumed was one of the Weasley's girlfriends. She was pretty and looked vaguely familiar- had she gone to Hogwarts? Perhaps she was a different year.

Once they were all seated and everyone had food on their plates, Harry stood. "Ahem," he coughed. For someone with such great legacy and history, he wasn't a naturally commanding presence in any room. "I want to thank you all for coming here to have this discussion with me. When I decided to take on the responsibility of Teddy, I knew I was going to be okay, because I knew I had the support of everyone in this room.

"I know you all love Teddy, but I don't want to force anyone here to take on more responsibility than they can handle. What I'm hoping to do is establish some sort of preliminary arrangement. Obviously we can adjust as necessary, but I think having some sort of schedule will be good for everyone involved."

There were nods all around, and then silence. Who would be first to volunteer their time? Teddy himself was paying no attention; he was too focused on shoveling as much of his bread roll into his mouth as he could.

"Well, I think consistency is key with a child. We can't have him moving from house to house every other day, especially when he starts to get older. Children need consistency," Molly said wisely.

"Should we switch every week?" asked Hermione. "Or should he stay between just Harry's and the Burrow and the rest of us take him whenever needed?"

"I don't mind having him over more often-" said Ron.

"Neither do I," Hermione quickly added. "And I don't want to place too much of a burden on Harry or you two, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"Well, a child is never a burden-"

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply such a thing-"

"I think we all need to be a little more honest," Luna interrupted in a dreamy but stern voice. "Obviously no one here expected to be responsible for a young child. But that's the situation we've found ourselves in. I think if we all put on the table the amount of responsibility we'd like to take on, this will be much easier."

Everyone exhaled, nodded and hummed in agreement. "She has a point," Neville said. "I can go first- I think I knew Lupin and Tonks least out of this group and I wouldn't feel comfortable being anything more than Uncle Neville to Teddy. I'm glad to babysit when needed, but I can't commit to partial custody or anything like that, especially now that I'm going back to school."

"I'm afraid I can't be more than an auntie, too," said Luna sadly. "I simply am much too busy with my research. Also, I've been told I'm not the best at keeping track of young kids. Sometimes I just get so distracted…"

"I'll always be his primary guardian," Harry said firmly. "Andromeda asked that of me, and I am more than willing to take that on."

Molly reached across the table and took Harry's hand. "This won't be all on you, my dear. Arthur and I… Well, we've both felt the house is just so empty now that you all are grown. It would make my heart so happy to have another child here. I think we should take him for a week out of every month, at least while he's young."

Harry visibly relaxed a little. "That would mean so much, thank you."

"And Mum," Ginny interjected, her voice small and hopeful. "I think now would be the best time to share that I'll be moving in with Harry soon."

Molly practically burst into tears. "Oh, my baby is growing up… I'm so happy for you, dear. Just make sure you two make time to be young yourselves. Life is too short to grow up too fast."

Both Ron and Hermione looked unsurprised at this news, which they must have been privy to earlier. Draco couldn't imagine being in their place, to be so young and already raising a child together. Lots of pureblood couples did it, sure, but it was different when the marriage was pre-arranged from birth. What Potter and the she-Weasley had was real, and that was scary to think about. How did he know she was the one he wanted to spend his life with, share his home with, raise his child with? Draco couldn't imagine ever feeling so sure about _anything_ in his life, much less a woman.

But then again, he felt strangely sure about Teddy. He felt sure enough about him to be at this meeting, surrounded by people he would normally run away from if he ever saw them out and about. He noticed a few of them were starting to stare at him expectantly. Was it his turn to contribute?

"Um," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "It's still unclear to me what level of involvement you all want me to have. But I like Teddy, I do. He reminds me of me when I was little- before all the joy and innocence in my life was stolen away, of course." He said this as a joke but none of them laughed. There was tension in the room, he could feel it. He glanced at Hermione, who was smiling at him encouragingly, but Ron had his brows furrowed. He coughed awkwardly and continued. "I don't do much these days so I'm willing to take Teddy on days when things are overwhelming or if everyone else is too busy. I also think it would be nice to have a regularly scheduled afternoon or evening with him if possible."

"Wait," said Ron, looking at Harry in surprise. "Are you comfortable letting Malfoy watch Teddy on his own?"

Harry looked caught off guard. "Er- I hadn't really given it much thought, honestly."

"I suppose we could start with supervised visits," Draco offered. "I don't have much experience with children."

"Experience ain't the worry, mate," George said with a short laugh.

Draco's stomach twisted. He was outnumbered, and his deference was quickly turning to aggression. "Let's talk about what the real worry is, then."

"The worry is that we can't trust you to take care of Teddy," said Luna. She said it as a mere matter of fact, but the tone fell flat.

Mrs. Weasley coughed uncomfortably. "That was a bit forward," she said, looking at Draco with pity. He shrank back in his seat, now feeling defensive. "I think we just need to work on a way to build trust."

"Is it trust, though?" Draco challenged, suddenly growing a spine. "Potter seemed to trust me enough to bring me to this conversation."

"Harry's not the only one you tormented," said Neville.

Ron nodded. "I, for one, haven't had a chance to talk to you at all. How am I supposed to know you've changed at all since school? How is anyone at this table supposed to know who you are?"

Draco raised both his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat. "What do you want, then, Weasley? I've been nothing but honest this entire time but I understand if you need more. Shall I schedule office hours? Or is this all just posturing, because we can always duel to settle this."

Molly wrung her hands anxiously. "Supervised visits was a good ide-"

"Supervised visits aren't the point," said Ron. "This is about more than Teddy. This is about all of us feeling okay with Malfoy being in our lives. I'll be the first to admit that I thought I'd never have to deal with my childhood bully again, and yet here he is at my dining table."

"This is _my_ dining table," Arthur said, finally joining the conversation.

"_Ours_," Molly corrected.

"Ours, of course darling, I just meant-"

"I like the duel idea," Ron interrupted, his eyes honed in on Draco. He was hunched over his place setting with the posture of a man intent on revenge.

"Excuse me?" said Hermione.

"You really want to duel?" asked Draco, feeling equal parts nervous and fired up. "With wands?"

"No, with plastic forks." Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, with wands. We've got some… unresolved anger here-"

"Understatement of the year," muttered George.

"-and I think sometimes it's best to settle it the old-fashioned way, yeah? Settle the score. See if we can trust you."

"I think that's the dumbest thing I've heard since Luna tried to convince me there were invisible worms in my apples," said Hermione frankly. "How are we supposed to evolve as a species if we keep resorting to physical combat to resolve our issues?"

"I think it's a fantastic idea," said Harry with a grin, enjoying egging his friend on. "You won't get it Hermione, it's a man thing."

Hermione groaned. "Oh, for the love of Merlin-"

"Great, then it's settled," said Ron. "We'll do it outside. Whoever gets the other to the ground for longer than three seconds wins. No Unforgiveables, obviously, and nothing that could cause grave physical harm."

"Perhaps we should define what 'grave physical harm' includes?" Hermione tried to say weakly, but the men were already on their way to the backyard. Draco tried to hide the way his hands were trembling in his pockets. He was in no way prepared for any sort of duel. He knew Weasley wasn't going to do him any grave harm, but he was in no shape for a fight. He hadn't cast a combative skill in over a year.

"Let the testosterone do its thing," Ginny advised, trailing after the boys with an amused smile.

"I'll stay inside with the little ones," said Molly, gesturing to Teddy and baby Louise. "Please make sure my son neither maims nor is maimed."

Outside, Harry was tracing a silver circle in the grass while George, Fred, and Bill talked strategy for Ron. On the other side of the lawn, Draco was standing awkwardly by himself, muttering different charms under his breath. If she hadn't known better, Hermione might have thought it was devious, but she had a feeling- or at least a hope- he wasn't going to try anything malicious. She walked up to him.

"I feel obligated to tell you that Ron's quite the dueler these days," she cautioned.

"I'm offended you think a warning is necessary."

"Just don't take it too far."

He looked actually bothered by her cautioning. "Again, the warning isn't necessary."

It was funny how easy it was for eons of evolution to give way against man's most prehistoric urges.

"Well. It's my nature to underestimate until I'm given reason to do otherwise," she said unapologetically. Still, she offered him a wink. "Good luck. Oh, and if you really want to get him, aim for his wand hand. He's useless with the other arm."

Then she walked away, leaving him confused as to why she would even give him advice. He didn't have much time to consider her motives, however, before George was announcing the terms of the duel. His voice, charmed like a Quidditch commentator's, boomed across the lawn. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first- and likely only- Weasley Sunday Dinner Duel!"

Everyone broke into a loud roar. Even Percy clapped, a hesitant grin on his face.

"On the left, hair as red as his rage, standing at a stocky, respectable 6'2", is Roooon Weaaaasley!"

Everyone cheered and whooped, and Draco suddenly felt mildly frightened, realizing for the first time that he didn't have a single ally in the whole lot. What if _did _turn dirty?

"And on the right, risen like a rather scrawny Phoenix from the ashes of social disgrace, standing at a far less impressive 5'9"-"

"-5'11"," Draco corrected under his breath.

"Please, put your hands together for Draaaaco 'the Ferret' Maaalfoy!"

The crowd broke into a mixture of laughs and jeers, with a splattering of sympathetic claps, likely from Granger.

Ron stood a good 50 yards away, wand raised, mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic smirk. Draco raised his wand as well, cocked an eyebrow, and nodded. "Let's get on with it, then."

"Just as a reminder, gents- we're here for a friendly fight. No low blows, nothing irreversible, and nothing that'll make Mum ban you from the Burrow indefinitely. First one to force the other to the ground for three consecutive seconds, as counted out loud by the crowd, is the winner, and will walk away without the feeling of indelible shame."

"All right, get on with it already!" called Harry.

"Calm down peanut gallery," said George. "Ready men?"

Ron and Draco both locked eyes, nodded.

"On my mark then- Three, two, one- Begin!"

Admittedly, the duel began anticlimactically. Despite all the fanfare, it appeared as if neither party had prepared an actual strategy. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see all the women in one corner, waiting with baited breath. He saw Hermione with a strange look in her eyes, something of simultaneous fear and intrigue.

And then, without warning, a snake of purple fire game bolting at him across the grass, leaving plumes of smoke in its wake. Draco barely produced a jet of water- green- to extinguish it feet before it reached him, disappearing in a burst of steam.

"Ah," Draco said impressedly, re-centering himself. "Wordless _and _a serpent? Perhaps there is more to you than I assumed, Weasley."

Draco remembered learning at Hogwarts that a good dueler plays to the weaknesses of their opponent- if he didn't get to know his challenger, he had no chance of winning. He threw out a few stunning spells, a disarming spell, and a leg-lock hex, noting the way Weasley preferred to countercharm than to physically dodge an attack. This could be to his advantage- it was difficult to maintain a countercurse while simultaneously casting an attack. He would just have to distract him for long enough.

Luckily, Draco remembered enough about their Hogwarts days to know exactly what would work best. "_Araneatus_" he hissed, and a stream of slender black spiders, their bodies shiny and round, their legs long and limber, sprouted from his wind and began racing their way towards Ron. The ginger's face paled and he threw up a _protego_\- weak- which the spiders crawled over, forming a sphere of arachnids around Ron.

"Scared, yet, Weasley?" Draco was encouraged by a chorus of _ooh_s from the audience.

Ron, eyes squeezed shut in terror, threw out a chain of stunning spells that distracted Draco enough to make the spiders disappear. He then threw a poorly aimed giggle charm, which grazed Ron's shoulder, making him succumb to a fit of small guffaws.

"You're cute when you lau-"

But Draco didn't get halfway through his jeer before Ron mustered a giggly '_Arborcere_', causing tendrils of tree roots to grow around Draco's feet, tying him to the ground and stunning him aside for the briefest of moments. He jerked his foot to try to rip off the roots, but it only made him stumble more. Using his left arm for balance, Draco sent a stinging curse to Ron's wand arm, per Hermione's instruction. It hit him square on and Draco thought for sure he'd have him on the ground with a simple breathlessness charm, but as he tried to catch his breath he saw Ron swiftly catch his wand with his left hand.

_Fucking Granger lied to him. _

With his left hand Ron performed a quick flick and jab, and Draco was met with a wall of wind to the chest, knocking him back, followed by an invisible sock to the nose. He fell with a crack, his wand tossed to the side, both hands clutching to a very bloody nose. The crowd was dead silent.

"Oh no, he's going to kill him," Hermione whispered to Ginny. Everyone forgot to count, knowing Draco was clearly defeated. They waited with baited breath as Ron, his face blank, took a few long strides to Draco. He said something too faintly for anyone to hear, and then he held a hand out to Draco.

The bloodied man accepted with a surprising degree of humility. "_Episkey_." Ron pointed at Draco's face and the blood cleared. "That one was for all the blood traitor jokes. Had to make sure it was all the same color, right mate?"

Draco offered him the slightest grin out of the corner of his mouth, and then Ron was clapping him on the back like they were old friends, and they were walking back into the Burrow, muttering back and forth to each other. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"What- the _fuck_\- was that?"

"Men," Ginny said with a heavy shake of the head.

And then the rest of them were filing back inside as well, praising Ron for his wandwork and asking Draco how he got the spiders to appear. Draco was surprised that he didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed at all- in fact, for once things finally felt fair. Even. The two men walked back inside together, leaving behind them a lawn scorched with the scars of settled scores.

* * *

a/n: i've gotten a few comments about draco having dogs. I agree that his vibe is much more of a cat person, but i just love the idea of draco with two regal looking dogs, kinda like the guy from taylor swift's blank space music video- d'ya get my vibe? haha. i'm also a huge believer in the healing power of animals, and i just feel like it would be fun to pair a struggling draco with a pair of loving dogs. in my head they're rottweilers, but i'd love to hear what breed/animal you think he would own!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

* * *

After their duel, Draco and Ron were friends. If you were to tell Draco that out of everyone in the Potter and company group, _Ron _would be one of his closest allies, he would have placed your sanity level somewhere between Luna and Trewlany. And yet there he repeatedly found himself, playing wizard chess with Ron Weasley and listening to a Quidditch match over the radio at the Burrow.

There really was no making sense of it all: that Ron moved past all the old scars with one broken nose, or that Draco had the patience to deal with Ron's brutish ways, but a friendship did indeed bloom. Their bond centered almost strictly around the only two things they had in common- Quidditch and chess- but it was a friendship nonetheless. After the duel Ron insisted on a game of chess, which then turned into three, and Draco didn't end up leaving the Burrow until close to midnight. The following week they did the same, and it was Ron who gave Draco advice about how to babysit Teddy.

"He's just a kid. It's really not complicated."

"Of course you feel that way, you've got the brain capacity of a five year old. You can relate to him," Draco said as he moved his queen out of harm's way.

Ron rolled his eyes and took a bishop Draco left exposed. "Just don't overthink it. Remember what it felt like to be a kid? The world is small, things are simple."

Privately Draco was terrified that he would do it all wrong- what if he said something to the child that could be construed the wrong way and leave him scarred like Draco was as a boy. He tried to act normal but _normal _didn't feel like it held weight anymore. _Normal_ was never really on the table.

Harry had a double shift that Thursday and asked Draco to come babysit in the evening while he caught up on sleep and studying. Draco agreed, albeit nervously. He was doubly uncomfortable about the entire thing because Potter was going to be in the other room, and if he hated to think that Harry might be eavesdropping or spying on them instead of actually sleeping.

He had Missy make another batch of biscuits. Chocolate, strawberry, and lemon. If all else failed, he was hoping to win the kid over with food. Missy was all too excited at the idea of Draco being an uncle, and spent all morning peppering him with tidbits. Before she worked for Draco, she had been with a foreign Pureblood family with many small children. They were killed in the war and she was eager to have a child back in her life again.

"Mr. Draco must be sures not to be too cold with the child," she said as he tried to mix an anxiety suppressant potion in his study. "But yous also shouldn't be too happy if it's fake. Theys can see throughs that."

"Okay, thank you, Missy," he said, keeping his eye on the number of bubbles that were rising to the surface. When the sixth one popped he needed to add the pickled coriander. Missy, however, had more wisdom to share.

"Do yous have toys to bring?" she asked as she paced the room, getting dangerously close to his cauldron. "What dos we have here… All yous has is books… Oh! The dog toys!"

She was so excited she flailed her arms and Draco had to yank his cauldron away so she wouldn't knock it over. A small amount of the purple liquid spilled onto his desk, making a faint fizzing noise. "Missy!" he hissed angrily. "You have to be more careful."

The elf cowered, ears flat against her round head. Before he could stop her, she was throwing herself against the floor, smacking her head so hard against the floorboards he worried she might give herself a concussion. He knelt to the ground and grabbed her arms so she couldn't move. She was crying. "Missy is sorry," she whimpered.

"It's okay," he said, unsure what to do. His body went cold, absent of the instincts one would normally call upon when someone needed to be comforted. He knew he should console her but the words escaped him. "Just be more careful next time." He let go of her arms and she wrapped them around her knees.

"Missy wants to makes sure Teddy likes Mister Draco," she murmured.

He sighed and offered her a smile, but it came out more as a weak grimace. "I'll try my best. I'll bring the biscuits _and _I'll buy him a toy."

She seemed satisfied with this answer and got up, wiping some lingering tears from her rosy red cheeks. "Missy will go package up the biscuits now."

Two o'clock came all too soon. After the mishap with Missy, he didn't have enough time to start brewing a new batch of anti-anxiety potion, and he certainly couldn't take a shot to take the edge off before seeing Teddy, so he resigned himself to his nerves. Before he went through the Floo, Missy made him do a spin so she could check him for lint or wrinkles. "Is this a date or an afternoon with a toddler?" he mumbled under his breath.

"Yous are going to do great!" she said proudly, handing him a blue cardboard box of biscuits tied up with a bow.

"Thanks, Missy."

With a final pat on the head for both Cassandra and Benjamin, Draco took a deep breath and stepped into the green flames of the Floo. He arrived in Harry's empty living room. After steadying himself, he called out: "Potter?"

"One second!" Harry called out from the other room. Draco put the biscuits on the table and ambled around the room. There were toys everywhere and the remnants of breakfast were piled high in the sink. Merlin, were children messy. Was it just Teddy, or were they all like that?

"_Ahhh!_" A loudly determined cry echoed from the hallway and Draco jumped around to see a very naked and very wet Teddy sprinting into the kitchen with a towel raised in the sky like a battle flag. Harry was fast behind him.

"Teddy!"

Draco, who always instinctively reached to his wand whenever he heard raised voices, quickly cast a freezing charm that locked the small boy into place. Teddy squirmed with adorable determination as Harry came and scooped him up in the towel. "Thanks," Harry panted. "He's a nightmare when it comes to bath time."

"You give him a bath at 5 PM?" Draco commented as he tucked his wand back away.

"He got into some paints Luna left here," Harry said as he carried Teddy back into his room. "Give me a moment, I need to dress him."

When the pair emerged again, Teddy was dressed in a small polo shirt and some stretchy pants made to look like slacks. "You look very smart," Draco complimented. Teddy scowled.

"My hair is wet."

"Well, I can fix that for you," Draco offered. He patted the couch seat next to him awkwardly. "Come sit here."

Teddy climbed onto the couch obediently. Draco took out his wand again and tried to remember the way to combine the warming charm with the breeze charm. It took him a couple moments to figure it out, and he accidentally blew a gust of freezing air onto the poor boy's neck, but eventually he got it right. Harry observed approvingly. "Thanks," he said again. "You're saving my arse left and right."

Draco nodded uncomfortably and turned back to Teddy, who was much easier to talk to than Harry. "Do you want a biscuit? I brought some."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Yes, please!"

"They're on the counter. Maybe your- maybe Uncle Harry could bring us the tin?" He nearly called Harry 'your father' but caught himself right in time.

Harry brought over the biscuits, sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "I could really use this time to study for the tests I have coming up at work. Do you think you'll be okay to be alone with him if I'm just in the other room?"

"Sure. No silencing charms this time, I promise."

Harry gave him a small wary chuckle. "Good. Teddy, I'm just going to the other room, okay? Listen to Draco. He's in charge while I'm not here."

Teddy, who was contentedly munching on a biscuit while having his hair dried, nodded. "Okay!"

Draco internally praised himself, and felt the same rush he felt when he wanted to pinch himself, but this time for a good reason. "So," he said to distract himself. "What shall we do?"

"I want to watch the telly."

"The what?"

"The _telly_," Teddy said exasperatedly. "Grampa Ar-tur gave me one."

Draco creased his brows. "Can you show me what the telly is? Is it an animal?"

Teddy bursted into giggles. "No!" He pointed to the corner of the room at a black box sitting on a bookshelf. It was the size of a small handbag and there was a knob and a button on the side. "That's the telly."

"Right," Draco said, not enjoying the feeling of a toddler having intellectual authority on any subject. Mr. Weasley was known to have a keen interest in Muggle 'technology' so the telly was probably some odd Muggle object. Teddy said he wanted to _watch_ it. Perhaps there were puppets inside that popped out? Or did it present a slideshow of photos?

"Can we watch it?" Teddy asked again.

Draco hesitated. "Maybe we could read a book instead?" Books at least were familiar territory.

Teddy pouted and scrunched his nose. "Books hurt my brain."

Draco snorted. "Sometimes I feel like that, too. Well, we can watch the telly, but you'll have to show how yours works. The one I have at home is different."

Teddy walked up to the box and pointed. "Press the button. And, and the knob."

Draco pulled out his wand and, after some finagling finally got a reaction- the front of the box lit up in different colors. He jumped at how bright and immediate the lights flashed in his face. There were noises, too, loud and shrill. He looked at Teddy incredulously. The boy was sitting there, already mesmerized. "You enjoy this?"

Teddy nodded. Draco leaned back, squinted, and tried to understand what was happening in front of him. There were characters on the screen moving around like portraits do, except the features were exaggerated, the colors were more vibrant, and their voices were squeaky and loud. "Is it like a book? Do they tell you a story?" Draco asked, to which Teddy shrugged. "What's this one about?"

"It's about a family of bears who live in the forest," said Teddy, not once breaking eye contact with the telly. There was obviously something compelling about the screen that Draco was missing, so he went to fetch the biscuits and then got comfortable next to Teddy on the couch, settling in to watch the telly.

The longer he stared, the more he understood why the boy was so mesmerized. It was so easy to become sucked into the world of the telly. The story, while clearly aimed at a juvenile audience, was nonetheless compelling, and there were even some clever jokes that Draco assumed only an adult would understand. He spent half the show, however, trying to figure out how exactly the Muggles made the pictures appear on the screen. Was it a projection of light? Did it play the same stories or were they different every time? How could that even be possible? Were the stories stored inside the box?

"Well, well, well." Draco jolted and turned to see Harry standing behind the couch, smirking with his arms folded. "I see Teddy showed you the telly."

Teddy smiled big. "Uncle Draco likes it too!"

Harry waved his wand and the screen went black. "I'm sure he did, the telly is lots of fun. But we're only allowed to watch two episodes a day."

"I didn't-" Draco started.

"It's fine," Harry said. "You didn't know. Was the show good?"

Draco shrugged while Teddy nodded vigorously. "It was the one with the bears and the dinosaurs and the unicorns. But no dragons. I like the one with the dragons better but that's only on Sasur-Satsur-Sasturdays."

"Saturdays," Harry corrected. "And yes, I believe Dragon Tales is only on the weekends."

Draco rubbed his eyes, which were sore from staring at the screen. "How long were we watching for?"

"Just an hour," Harry said, pointing at the clock by the kitchen. "Would you like to stay longer? I got some good studying in, so you're free to leave."

Draco faltered. He hardly got to spend time with Teddy, but maybe it was best that he only stay for a little bit during his first solo visit. But then Teddy made the decision for him.

"No!" Teddy whined. "I want Uncle Draco to stay."

"Do you?" Harry said.

"I suppose I can stay a bit longer," Draco affirmed. "What shall we do then? Perhaps the book we discussed earlier?"

"Or dragons!" Teddy said, jumping to his feet and flapping his arms like wings. "I wanna blow _fire_!" He whooshed and then fell to the ground in giggles.

Harry chuckled. "Perhaps you could go grab the dragon book Auntie Hermione bought you? Uncle Draco could read it to you."

Teddy nodded vigorously. "Okay!" He took off running to his room.

"That kid is a handful," Harry said.

"Sorry about the telly," said Draco.

Harry shook his head dismissively and walked to the kitchen to get himself a cup of tea. "Like I said, you didn't know. I'm not even sure about my own rule. I'm trying not to be too hard on myself if I break my own rules. I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

It was strange to see Harry Potter try to be a parent. One of the most pivotal moments in a his life, Draco believed, was when he first realized his parents are just _people._ Not gods, not heroes, not wise all-knowing beings- just _people_. People with their own insecurities, egos, paranoias, hopes, and scars. Harry didn't know what he was doing more than anyone else did- a parent is nothing more than a human trying to figure out the best way to raise another human. And if that wasn't the most terrifying high-stakes job out there, Draco didn't know what was. Lucius and Narcissa showed him what it looked like to fuck it up, after all.

Teddy came barreling back into the room carrying a large book over his head. "Dragonnns!" he cried as he ricocheted himself back onto the couch headfirst. Draco caught him right before he slammed his head straight onto the hardcover book.

"Whoa, there," he said, as if he were calming a thestral. "Okay, let's read this. Perhaps Uncle Potter can go back to studying."

Teddy looked up at Draco with an expression of distinct confusion. "Uncle Potter?"

Harry laughed from the kitchen. "Is that what you called me?"

"No," Draco said defensively. Had he? "I meant your Uncle Harry."

Teddy giggled but took mercy on his cousin and let it slide. "Okay, read now!"

Draco, muttering under his breath about the importance of respecting one's elders, begrudgingly took the book. The title was _The Tale of Two Dragons_, and the cover featured a fierce black dragon snarling at a much more innocent looking blue dragon standing defiantly in its path. Teddy cuddled up to him to get a better look at the photos, and Draco was struck at how innocent and endearing the affection of a child was. He smiled as he opened the book.

"Gordon was a very grumpy dragon…"

He read the story slowly, allowing Teddy time to ponder each and every illustration. The book was magical, and the watercolor characters acted out the story as he read aloud. The dragons came to life on the page, battling out a story as old as time: the innate struggle of good versus bad, of justice versus evil. Draco tried to do voices for the different characters, but even Teddy could tell it wasn't his strongest talent and requested he stop.

When the story was over Teddy yawned. "I'm tired."

"Is that so?"

"Stories are for bedtime."

The clock only read 8 PM, but Draco didn't actually know what time children were meant to go to bed. As if reading his mind, Harry came back into the living room. "Y'know what, Teddy? I think it might be time to start getting ready for bed."

Draco took the book and stood up. "And it's probably time for me to go home."

Teddy's face fell. "No… I want him to stay."

"Uncle Draco has to go home and get ready for bedtime, too," Harry said. "Right?"

"Er- um, yes," Draco faltered. "My bedtime is also eight o'clock."

Much to Draco's horror, tears began to swim in Teddy's eyes. "I don't… I don't _wanna_ go to bed… I wanna watch more telly... "

Harry sighed and Draco could tell this wasn't the first time this had happened. He cleared his throat awkwardly and knelt in front of Teddy. "Do you know how dragons sleep in a cave at night?" he asked, not even entirely sure if dragons really did sleep in caves.

Teddy nodded and Draco continued: "Think about your bed like a dragon cave, then. Where you can rest up so you're ready for the next day."

Harry caught on and nodded in agreement. "We could even fly away to your cave dungeon to sleep like a dragon does. Would you like that?"

He smiled wide and nodded. "Yes!"

Draco watched as Harry silently charmed a gust of wind to swell under Teddy's arms, giving him the sensation of flying. He ran down the hall to Teddy's room with the boy up above him, squealing in delight. He did a few circles before finally landing Teddy in his small bed with a loud _whoosh_ sound effect. Teddy fell in a fit of laughter, begging to be lifted again.

Harry shook his head, panting slightly, and held up a pair of clean pajamas. "Alright, it's really time to sleep now." He leaned over to Draco and muttered: "Thank you."

Draco gave Teddy a high-five, the boy's preferred alternative to the dreaded hug, and then Flooed home. It wasn't until he went to remove his cloak that he realized there was a smile frozen on his face that still hadn't thawed. But all of a sudden he was back home by himself and although he had felt lonely before, never had it been so unignorably painful.

He pinched himself hard and then, of all things, he thought of Missy. She was going to be so ecstatic. He nailed it.

* * *

Draco's presence at Weasley family dinners gradually grew less awkward and he even earned his own regular seat- next to Granger and Lovegood and across from Weasley. Despite their burgeoning friendship, the surname habit stuck. There were still members of the group he had yet to win over- Bill and his wife, most notably- but he was beginning to feel like he might be able to carve out a space that felt safe, if not even comfortable.

Sometime after his third Weasley dinner he met up with Blaise for drinks at a dark dive bar at the far end of Diagon Alley.

"I don't _dislike_ being around them," Draco said as he nursed a whiskey on the rocks. "But I do wear a mask around them. I play a character and I play it well."

Blaise shrugged dismissively. "Everyone's playing a character all the time," he said. "You're not special, mate."

"You don't think that might be a uniquely Slytherin quality?" Draco challenged. Blaise considered this but then shook his head.

"To an extent we are permanently acting. It's only around certain people in certain moments that we might be relaxed enough to be caught off guard. And then once you notice it the mask comes on again." Blaise had the skill of always sounding as if he was formally educated in anything he spoke about. He was the very embodiment of faking it until he made it, and it served him well. Draco, on the other hand, always overdid it. He was too full of emotion and insecurity to pull off the conviction Blaise had.

"Speaking of masks, how's your Mum?" Blaise asked.

"I haven't seen her in… Merlin, almost a month now. I should write her soon."

"And your father?"

Goosebumps washed over Draco's arms at the thought of Lucius. Some days he forgot entirely that he had a father out there.

"No news on the father front." There never was.

"You know what you need, mate," Blaise said in the tone of a much older, wiser man than he was. "You need a project."

"A project?"

"Something to do. You've got to capitalize on the momentum your life is presenting you with."

Draco scoffed. "You sound batty. And I do have a project; his name is Teddy Lupin."

"I mean besides the boy. You've got all those investments. Why not give some to a foundation? Sit on a board?"

"Ah, yes, the world is just clamoring to have a Malfoy sit on their board."

Blaise shrugged. "You could join something like that Hogwarts Rejuvenation Task Force."

"Restoration, not rejuvenation. I'm fairly sure they're trying to repair the school, not smooth its wrinkles."

"Semantics," Blaise said dismissively. "My point is, you've spent enough time holed up doing nothing. I allowed it for a few years given the trauma of being forced to commit war crimes. But that's in the past now."

"It's hardly been three years," Draco said.

Blaise put down his drink and looked his friend dead in the eye. "I know you, Malfoy. Better than most. I know you're ready for more."

Draco squirmed uneasily in his seat. Blaise was far more comfortable with the more intimate nuances of friendships and his honesty could be jarring. He wasn't warm or encouraging, but rather direct and honest- but then again, Draco wasn't one to respond to warm and mushy, sincerity wasn't a native language for him.

"All I'm saying, Draco, is that you haven't begun to consider what else might be out there for you. But you should. I promise it's more than you'd think."

* * *

Draco was sitting in his study reading the paper when Missy knocked on the open door holding a blue stuffed dragon. "Does this ones belong to Teddy? I founds it in the kitchen."

"Yes, it does," Draco said. Teddy had visited briefly earlier in the day to show off some face paint he had done at a fair and must have left it behind. Draco put down the paper and sighed. "It's one of his favorites, too, and I won't see him again until Sunday."

"Yous should probably go gives it to him," Missy advised.

Draco was wearing casual house robes, but there really wasn't any need to dress up just to stop by and drop off the stuffed animal. He threw some Floo powder into the fireplace and when it flashed green, requested Potter's address. When he stepped out into Harry's living room, he was surprised to see Hermione sitting on the couch wrapped up in a blanket. She looked like a deer in headlights. "Malfoy?"

"Er-Is it just you here?"

"I'm on babysitting duty so Harry and Ginny can have their date night." She looked him up and down, appearing startled at the baggy old robes he was wearing. "Do you need something?"

"I'm sorry, I would have Floo-called if I knew it was just you here. I just needed to drop this off." He pulled the stuffed dragon out of his robe pocket. "Teddy left it at my place when he visited. I thought I'd bring it back as soon as I could."

She gave him an odd smile. "You do know it's nearly 10? Teddy's asleep."

"Oh." It hadn't occurred to Draco that a child might have a more reasonable sleeping schedule than he did. In fact, he hardly ever knew what time it was, he tended to just follow the cues of the sun. "I guess I'll just leave it with you, then. You'll give it to him tomorrow?"

Hermione looked anxious to get back to whatever she was reading- she was couched between some plush throw pillows and a knit blanket. A pair of wiry reading glasses rested on the bridge of her nose and a faint scent of something Italian was coming from the kitchen. "It smells good," he said. His stomach rumbled without his consent. "I'll just leave this and go-"

"Are you hungry-?" she said at the same time.

They both stopped. "You don't have to consider me a charity case," he said.

She shut her book and took her glasses off to rub her eyes. "I wasn't. I was just offering food." She appeared more exasperated with him than usual, like the last thing she wanted to do was put down her reading and interact with him. So, in a sudden rush of immature malevolence Draco hadn't felt in a good while, he took her offer.

"Sure. I'd love some food."

The moment she stood she broke into a huge yawn, and suddenly Draco regretted his choice. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe she just spent all evening with a toddler and didn't want to deal with him, too.

She shuffled into the kitchen and came back with a small pan of lasagna and two forks. "I don't feel like washing any plates."

"That's fine. Is that all you made? I don't want to take anything away from you."

"I'm an expert at cooking for one," she said as she divided the serving in half. "I usually make enough for leftovers but you might as well have it. It tastes much better fresh anyway."

They both pulled up chairs to the kitchen counter and dug in. "I really don't mean to steal your food."

"It can't be theft if I'm offering."

They ate in uncomfortable silence. Draco ate in small bites, careful not to get any mess on his face.

"How have you been doing?" she finally asked, unable to handle the quiet tension.

"I'm doing well," he answered. "And you? You look ill, quite frankly."

He was surprised at himself- around the others he was anxious to the point of reticence, but around Granger he retained some of his old bite.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I did fall ill soon. I'm overworked and I'm so stressed I think I've paralyzed myself into a state of permanent panic." She chewed thoughtfully, took a sip of water. "They tell you you're excellent all your life and then once you succeed they all wait for you to either do something greater or die trying."

"And you care what they think?"

She shrugged. "You don't?"

"I go back and forth. Who is _they_ anyway?"

Hermione mulled this over. "Friends, family, old classmates, the press, everyone. We're under such scrutiny all the time. Some days I want to just run away for a few years, figure myself out in private."

"Why don't you?"

"And leave everyone behind?" She seemed flabbergasted at the very idea. "I don't think I could."

Draco didn't know what it was like to have the public overseeing his every move, but the pressure to succeed was he was all too familiar with. There were many nights in the Slytherin dorms that he silently cried himself to sleep after receiving new orders from his father on behalf of Voldemort. There he was, sixteen, meant to pretend he cared about potions class or Quidditch when he was being tasked with murder.

But that was then. And this was now.

Hermione's eyes were bloodshot; she looked too tired to engage any further. Every few minutes she would rub her eyes or yawn. "You're exhausted," he said.

She looked up, dazed. "Is it that obvious?" He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or if she really was deliriously tired. "I've been up for 36 hours straight now. Normally I fit at least 6 hours of sleep in a night, but sometimes schedules get wild, right?"

"Actually, I can't relate. I sleep from 3 AM to 7:30 AM every night."

She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "What? How do you possibly function like that?"

"These dark circles under my eyes were very carefully curated, Granger. Once doesn't form such perfect semicircles by accident." He declined to let her know that his warped sleep schedule was a result of depression and insomnia mixed with a cocktail of uppers he took on particularly bad mornings.

She gave him a small corner-of-the-mouth smile. "So your bedtime isn't for several more hours."

"Indeed."

They both could tell what was happening- she was too proud to ask for help and he was too proud to offer it. It was both of their fatal flaws.

"You can wash the pan since you ate my food," she finally said. "I need to finish my reading."

And so he did. And when he returned to the couch he found her fast asleep, the book unmoved from where she had put it down earlier. He shook his head, took up residence on the armchair, and stole her book to read as he waited for Potter to get home.

At 11:30, there was a creak of a door opening from the hallway. Draco was deep into the book at that point- the House Elf strike of 1783 was actually quite enrapturing- and he wasn't eager to put it down. Then there was a small voice, high pitched and frightened.

"Her-my-nee?"

He stood abruptly. Teddy was standing in the hallway, a small blanket clutched in one hand.

"Hey," Draco whispered. "Gra- Hermione's asleep. But I'm here. What's wrong?"

Teddy looked mildly suspicious, so Draco beckoned him to the couch to check. "See? She's just really tired."

Teddy also lowered his voice to a whisper. "Me, too."

"Then why are you awake?"

"I had a scary dream." He looked up at Draco expectantly, clearly waiting for some type of comfort.

"I- er- why don't we go back to your room?"

Teddy nodded, then reached up to grab Draco's hand with his free one. The young boy's palms were warm and wet. Draco cringed at the dampness but allowed him to hold on anyway.

Teddy's room was painted a calm blue color. There were charmed dragon decals on the wall, each one of them sleeping soundly. The floor was scattered with blocks and picture books. Draco recognized one of his own childhood favorites: Sal the Snail and his Color-Changing Shell.

Teddy climbed back into bed and looked up at Draco dolefully. "In my dream a bad man came in through my window."

The bedroom window had been left cracked open, presumably to let in a breeze. He shut it. "Is that better?"

"No," said Teddy, dissatisfied. "What if he's hiding in here?"

"Oh. Um… Shall I look for him, then?"

"Yes, please."

Draco drew his wand for added effect and began scanning the room. He made a show of opening the closet, checking under the rug, and even looking in the waste bin. Teddy giggled. "He can't fit in there!"

When he was finished, Draco tucked his wand away and nodded satisfactorily. "No scary man here."

"Good." Teddy looked relieved and his eyes were beginning to droop again.

"I'll be just outside the door, okay? Me and Granger. Hermione," he corrected.

"Wait," Teddy cried as Draco closed the door. "It's dark. I don't like it."

Draco thought for a moment. "Well… I do know something for that. My own Mum used to do this for me when I was little." He drew his wand again and conjured up a dull orb of glowing yellow light. Slowly, the orb floated to hang by the bedside table. "A nightlight."

Teddy smiled and pulled his blanket up to his chin. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He waited outside Teddy's room until he could tell he was asleep again, and then he went back into the living room and placed Teddy's baby monitor closer to Hermione, who was now deep asleep. It was past twelve at this point and he knew Potter would be back soon, so he quietly tiptoed back to the fireplace and after surveying the room one more time, Flooed back home by himself.

* * *

It was at the fourth Weasley dinner Draco attended that Hermione showed up over a half hour late, wearing her work clothes and a weary face. He had been eyeing the empty seat next to him, wondering where she was- it felt wrong to start dinner without her in the room. One thing he liked about the group was their strict adherence to tradition and routine, and the fact that Granger wasn't there was throwing him off.

The Floo roared just as Draco cleared his plate and Hermione came bustling in with a huff. She removed her coat, sighed deeply, and then began shoveling food onto her empty plate.

"Hermione!" Harry said, surprised at both her tardiness and her lack of composure. "Something happen at work?"

Hermione slumped back into her chair with a heavy groan. "One of my biggest sponsors dropped me today. I had to have an emergency meeting with the others to do damage control."

The room filled with indignant tut-tuts and head shakes. "Why?" asked Molly.

"Apparently my most recent public statement- that one thing I said at the fountain ribbon cutting about house elf wages- was too 'radical' for Graystone Investments and they'd rather not risk the potential hit to their business."

"Oh, Graystone?" Draco said casually. "No wonder. Their whole board is full of asshats. I'm surprised they signed up to sponsor you in the first place."

"It was all an appeal to the younger, progressive market. They were in it for the press. Although progress clearly has a price."

"They're idiots. Blaise sold his shares in the company recently, said they're going down the gutter anyway."

Hermione was turned all the way facing him, listening intently. "That actually does make me feel better. It's just… they were providing a significant amount of startup capital. I'm going to have to push back the launch until I can find another sponsor, which will be a complete PR nightmare."

"There are ways to deal with that. I actually know this PR guy- someone my mother hired after the war- if he could keep the Malfoys from being assassinated after everything we did, I'm sure he could spin this in your favor. I could… give you his number…" He faltered when he noticed everyone else was also listening to him. Hermione, however, nodded enthusiastically.

"That would be amazing. Thanks, Malfoy."

A strange warm feeling came over him and he immediately turned back to his food and took a huge bite to distract himself. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Molly was giving him a curious look, and he didn't like the feeling of being inspected, observed, dissected. He was anxious for the day he could do something generous without any ulterior motive being questioned. If that day ever came.

For the rest of the dinner everyone brainstormed ways for Hermione to make up the lost funds. Draco was quiet, mulling over the potential consequences of his own offer. He actually wasn't sure if he wanted to help Granger out. Yet, when he considered it, he felt a surge of passion he hadn't felt for so long it was almost unrecognizable. She was a project.

After dinner Draco sat alone in the corner of the living room, sipping some tea as he pretended to listen to the evening radio. All the men were outside playing a game of pick-up Quidditch but their numbers were uneven so Draco sat the game out. He was startled when a bushy-haired woman took a seat next to him. She was holding a plate of peach cobbler. "I wanted to talk to you about something," she said, her face curious.

"What might that be, Granger? Wondering why I'm not partaking in dessert? This figure doesn't happen on its own, you know."

She didn't laugh, only looked at him curiously. "The other day, when you came over to drop off Teddy's dragon… He told me the next morning that you tucked him in and made him his own nightlight."

Draco turned pink. "Well, if you're here to chastise me for not waking you up to comfort him, I won't apologize. He seemed just fine with the way I did things."

"No, Malfoy, I wanted to say thank you," she said earnestly. "That was really sweet of you."

He turned even pinker, uncomfortable with her compliment. "Oh."

"Sometimes I wonder if you _want _us to think you're a bad guy," she continued, taking a thoughtful bite of cobbler. "Why wouldn't you mention what happened?"

"I didn't think it was that important to bring up."

"Or you're so used to being labeled evil or mean or slimy," she countered, "that you've simply assumed that role for yourself."

"Or," he argued, "you're an unrelenting optimist who is reading far too much into one small act of kindness towards a _child_." There it was again- that desire to challenge her, to push her. He couldn't help himself. He liked the fire it lit.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing side to side. "I really don't get it, Malfoy. Do you _want_ us to hate you? Even earlier you seemed hesitant to offer to help. Why wouldn't you want us to like you?"

He sighed, leaned back, and looked her dead in the eyes. "Has it occurred to you that perhaps I simply don't care what you think of me?" His tone toed the line between malicious and playful, and even he wasn't sure where he intended it to land.

Hermione opened her mouth like she was about to give in and challenge him, but she stopped herself. "You're right," she said with a clipped tone. She stood back up and shrugged. "Perhaps I shouldn't care about you, either."

"Wait, I-" Words escaped Draco as she walked away. How did he always manage to come across as the biggest arsehole in the room?

Even later in the night, after he had fed the dogs and put them to bed, he couldn't get what she said out of his head. She was wrong, he didn't _want _to be seen as the villain, but there was something to be said about how easily he fell into the role. It was familiar, and there was a piece of him that found it comfortable. Maybe even enjoyable- there was power in being feared. But there was a larger part of him, the part that wanted a do-over, another chance. A persona defined entirely by choices _he _made, not by ones made for him.

It was late, the sky a velvet blue. He could hear the cicadas chirping outside but he couldn't sleep; there was fire in his chest and needles in his fingers. Suddenly struck with an energy he hadn't felt in years, Draco ripped himself from his bed. His body began to act of its own accord- his legs led him down the hall to his study, his hands began picking up files and dumping them onto his desk. Guided by the light of the moon, he was a man possessed.

_You need a project_. That's what Blaise had said. _He _could be the project. A new Draco Malfoy, a second edition with substantial edits. This money, wrapped up in the piles of paper he began sifting through, was dirty money, earned and maintained through the exploitation of others. Right now most of it was sitting in stocks, building up interest over time. What else could he do with it? What use could it be put toward?

And then, like a final puzzle piece snapping neatly into place, it all came together in his head.

_Granger_.

* * *

a/n: so sorry about the tardiness of this chapter- life throws its curveballs and we have to adapt! i hope you and your loved ones are staying safe during this worrisome time. are you quarantining? if so, how are you keeping yourself from going stir crazy?

if all goes according to plan the next chapter should be out in a matter of days!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Hermione's office was located in a large two-story office complex rented out to various local organizations. The building was brand new, constructed in an area undergoing "revamping"- realtors had given the neighborhood a fancy new name but it hadn't stuck quite yet and rent in the area was still cheap. Draco had gotten her work address from Ron, explaining that he was helping her with some work contacts.

The hallway to Granger's office was long and carpeted with an ugly paisley pattern. He read the other name plates as he walked down the hall: _United Kingdom Public Magical Utilities Department_, _Inter-Species Empowerment League_, _Goblins United Against Smoking_. Her office was at the far end of the hall, and beside her door was a humble nameplate with _Granger, H._ printed in small black letters.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his robe, and then raised his hand to tap the door lightly a half dozen times with the back of his knuckle. There was a shuffle and then the door creaked open slightly.

"Malfoy?" Hermione swung the door open widely and smiled at him, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

She was wearing a white jumper over a gray dress with black stockings and boots, giving her the effect of a schoolteacher. Her office was clean but scattered, as if none of the objects had a place to be quite yet. There was lots of empty space but the walls were lined with towering filing cabinets. He saw her desk in the corner and motioned at it. "I'm here on business."

She frowned. "Business?" she asked as she warily led him to a seat. "How did you find out where I work?"

"Unimportant," he said dismissively. He sat back and removed his scarf, tucking it into his cloak. "I wanted to ask you about your- what do you call it- anti-profit?"

"Non-profit," she corrected. She kept eyeing him suspiciously, as if he had crossed into territory in which he didn't belong.

"Right. That. You mentioned the other night that you recently had a major sponsor withdraw after you called for that mandatory minimum wage thing-"

"A sickle a day is hardly a wage-"

"I'm not trying to argue with you about that," he said, cutting her off. "In fact, I'm proposing the opposite. I want to be an investor."

She blinked and leaned in with her hands folded on her desk. Her nail polish was chipped, he noticed. "An investor?" she repeated.

"Yes. Actually, I have a few ideas I want to propose. I'm looking to be more like a… co-owner. I'm ready to provide up to 100,000 galleons for 50% equity in your business."

She stared at him, then scoffed. "You're joking."

"I'm not." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a file. "In fact, I wrote up a memo for your consideration."

She snatched the file and scanned it over quickly. As she read, her eyebrows turned from distrust to curiosity. She looked up at him, intrigued. "This is actually a brilliant idea."

He couldn't help but smile. "I know."

"I mean, you seem to still fundamentally misunderstand exactly what a nonprofit is, but we can discuss that," she said as she paged through his proposal. "But why do you want to do it?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, feeling _confidence_ of all things. "You need capital to start this whole venture up, and I've got a good amount of it. My family name is soured with the stains of the war, but if I were to take the remnants of the Malfoy fortune and invest it into small business ventures to rebuild Wizarding England, I could help change that. You get the money you need, I get the good PR, and we both get the satisfaction of helping others… or whatever."

She looked back down at the memo as if she couldn't really believe what he was saying. "It says here that you might be able to get some of the other Pureblood families on board."

"Blaise loves the idea and I've been in talks with the Parkinsons and the Notts. There aren't many reasons _not _to do it. Conservatively, I think I could procure at _least_ another 20,000 galleons for you within the next three months."

She shook her head and for a moment he wasn't sure if she was angry or confused or ecstatic. Then she looked up at him and he saw she had tears in her eyes. "Granger-"

"Can I hug you?" she asked tearfully.

"I- pardon- what?"

"It's just, when I'm really grateful, I like to hug people…"

If only because he was so shocked by the presence of a crying Hermione Granger, Draco conceded with a nod. "Um, sure-"

She stood and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. He sat stock still, petrified by the sniffling witch who had attached herself to his torso. He couldn't remember the last time he had engaged in a hug, and the feeling was foreign and uncomfortable for him. And of all people, he was being embraced by _her_. She was warm, warmer than he thought she would be, and firm. It was over in a matter of a second, but when she stepped away, he still felt hot.

"Thank you, Malfoy."

He shuffled his feet anxiously. "It really is a mutually beneficial decision."

"I know. But I'm still grateful." She wiped away a tear and straightened herself up. "We should meet soon. I can start owling you materials tomorrow, even. We can talk about the particulars and get all the paperwork out of the way. In fact, I have a wonderful paralegal who can notarize everything for us…"

She rambled on and he nodded, pretending to listen to her endless list of to-dos. His mind, however, was still stuck on her hug. It had been awhile since someone had held him, fastened him to Earth, reminding him _I'm here and you're here and we're both here together right now._

"Yeah, sure, whatever you need," he heard himself saying to her. "I can make time to get it done."

She beamed and it made him feel warm again, which scared him. He took a step back from her and ran a hand through his hair. "So we'll go over everything later, yes?"

She was too ecstatic over the news to notice the shift in his aura. "Yeah, of course, sure. I'll owl you tomorrow."

He Flooed home to find Cassandra and Benjamin waiting on either side of the fireplace, both staring up at him with guilting eyes. He hadn't taken them on a walk yet that morning. "I know, I know, I'm late," he sighed. "I promise you two were my friends, first. I won't abandon you yet."

* * *

Hermione ended up sending over so much paperwork for review that it took a team of three owls four trips each to transport it all. Why she didn't just Floo over to deliver it was beyond Draco, but it was exciting every time another owl arrived with more files. He devoured them quickly: some, like the philosophy and justice articles, were long and boring and he skimmed rather than absorbed, but the ones Granger penned herself were fascinating. There were copies of letters written back and forth with dozens and dozens of people- lawyers, business owners, teachers, government officials, authors, researchers. She exchanged ideas, proposed innovations, and collected knowledge, which she then synthesized into shorter memos. As he read, Draco began fleshing out the vision Hermione had: a place where creative problem-solvers could come to receive funding and support for their social justice projects.

On Tuesday Draco decided to visit his mother. Although he was the sole manager of the family's investments, he was worried his mother might be notified of the fund transfer, and even if not, the residual guilt of his childhood obligated him to at least warn her.

He wrote her in the morning to tell her he'd stop by around five. She didn't write back, which he found unusual but figured she was bitter about the long stretch since his last visit.

When he Flooed to the Manor promptly at five, he expected to find his mother waiting in the drawing room by the main fireplace. Instead, the room was empty, orange evening light filtering in, tiny dust moths floating in the air. Draco took a step into the room and shrugged off his coat. The door to the dining room swung open and the elf looked at him grumpily. With a shrug he gestured to the ceiling and then hobbled off.

Draco looked up and heard a thump from above, causing more dust clumps to fall from the ceiling. He angled his head and heard muffled shouting, and like a bucket of cold water being poured down his neck, he realized exactly what he was hearing. It was the same noise he would wake up to in the middle of the night, alone in his dark room. Lucius' voice echoing through the thick walls, Narcissa's pleas and whimpers.

He felt his fingers curl and his hand went immediately to his wrist. He wanted blood- his father's or his, it didn't matter. It was all the same anyway.

There was another thump and then a sharp yell and the noises stopped. He waited and sure enough in a few minutes he heard the soft shuffle of his mother's house slippers on the carpeted stairs. Narcissa, to any outsider, looked normal, presentable. But to Draco's well-trained eye she was practically disheveled: the baby hairs around Narcissa's temple were frizzed and reaching for the sky, the sleeves of her robes were wrinkled, and her posture was hunched. Luckily, though, there was no sign of external injury. The fight was only verbal.

"Draco," she said wearily. She had forgotten he was coming. "It's good to see you."

He opened his arms and they embraced lightly. Narcissa laid a hand on the nape of her son's neck, briefly clutching him, and then released. She smiled. "How are you?"

"Where is he?" Draco asked, ignoring her question. "I'd like to have a word with him."

Narcissa walked to an armchair by the fire and rested with her forehead in her hand. "Please don't cause trouble, Draco. I have a terrible migraine."

"A man can't confront his son in his own home? Fucking coward." Draco wanted to bolt upstairs and find his father himself, hit him with a _Crucio_, watch him writhe. It was a familiar fantasy but one he had never dared to live out.

"Stop," Narcissa said. Her command was final. He sat.

"Someday he's going to have to face me," Draco murmured. Narcissa pretended not to hear him. "I'm doing fine," he answered.

"Good." She reached up and smoothed her baby hairs down. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun, the hair yanked so tight it looked like it pulled her skin. "So what do you need from me today?"

"It's been awhile since I last visited."

"I know that." She sniffed and picked at an invisible hangnail.

"I wanted to visit you," he said honestly. "And I also have some things I wanted to… keep you aware of."

Narcissa nodded. "Is this about the child?"

"Not directly, but-" Draco stopped. He reached into his robe and pulled out his wallet. He took out two photos he had of Teddy- one was recent, a photo of Draco posing with Teddy outside after a Weasley dinner, and the other was a baby photo Harry shared with Draco. "Here he is. In case you wanted to know."

Narcissa didn't say anything but her eyes betrayed her indifference. He knew why- she saw her sister in the boy. She fingered the photos curiously and then handed them back over. "He's a handsome boy."

"Black blood," Draco agreed as he tucked the photos away. "It does a man favors."

Narcissa looked wistful. "You've been spending a lot of time with him, then?"

He nodded. "With all of them."

"What is it like?"

He wasn't sure what she meant by asking this. Did she want him to rebuke them, to confirm that they were as terrible as Lucius once painted them to be? Dirty blood traitors, living like rats, no sense of respectability. Or did she want the truth? Did she want to know that her son was being treated well, with dignity? They certainly owed him no dignity, and she knew that.

"It feels good," he answered carefully. "To have friends."

Narcissa's face twisted into something Draco hadn't expected: a smile. He searched her face for malice but found none, just contentment. "Good," said Narcissa.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually," Draco said. He took a deep breath and let it out in one go: "I wanted to let you know that I'll be liquidating a good amount of our remaining assets to give to Hermione Granger."

Narcissa's smile turned to a pucker, as if she'd eaten something sour. "Excuse me?"

"I manage our profiles, so this is less of an ask than a courtesy. I'm not asking for permission, I just wanted you to hear all this from me."

"You're giving our money to Hermione Granger?"

"Not to her. To her charity," Draco explained.

"Oh, are you a philanthropist now?"

"You were always a proponent of philanthropy."

"Yes, when we were wealthy."

Draco scoffed. "We have plenty of money left."

"We have money left because your father didn't throw away our money to whatever young woman caught his interest," Narcissa said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Draco balked. "Excuse me? Don't you dare try to purport that my father made wise choices. And as a major donor I'll be chair of her board, helping oversee how she spends the money. In return, I might manage to recover some of the dignity _my father _stripped of the Malfoy name."

Narcissa took in a sharp breath. She had no counterargument other than the simple fact she didn't want her money given away to a Muggleborn, and Draco knew that. He continued: "This is a good idea. I refuse to hear anything to the contrary, especially if it has anything to do with my father. However, I would be happy to share with you the proposal I shared with Ms. Granger as well as the paperwork outlining exactly how much of our assets I'll be liquidating."

Narcissa gave him a tight-lipped nod. She stared at Draco, long and measured, and suddenly her lips twisted into something resembling a smirk. A Malfoy smirk. "I respect your ardor," she said, smoothing down her robe. "I can't help but wonder, however, how much of this might be due to _Ms. Granger_ herself."

Draco felt himself go red and he tried to calm himself so it wouldn't show on his pale face. "I don't like what you're implying."

"All I will say is that while I trust your abilities and have faith in your intelligence, I can only hope you think with your head and not with your-"

"Stop," Draco said, shaking his head, not wanting to hear whatever was about to come out of his mother's mouth. "I just wanted to stop by to let you know what's going on so you wouldn't be surprised. I don't want advice right now."

"Fine," said Narcissa. She remained seated while her son got up to leave. "I hope you'll stay in touch, Draco. And if I can help you at all…"

Draco stopped before he reached the fireplace. "Actually," he said. "Who was that fellow you hired after the war? The media strategist?"

"Herman Galgantio," Narcissa said.

"Yes, him. You can send me his information. I'll be sure to have Missy post you a copy of the proposal and investment paperwork," he said as he tossed some Floo powder into the fireplace. "Good to see you, Mum."

* * *

Herman Galgantio was a tall man, broad-chested and sharp-jawed with a winning smile and a strong but approachable physique. He was the time of man with eyes you could trust, and a tongue that could win you over if the eyes didn't work.

He was friendly in a superficial way and Draco could tell he only knew an artificial etifice of the man. Herman was so good at his job that he became his own client: a human programmed to excel at friendly conversation, equipped with a jolly laugh, a firm handshake, and a quick tongue.

Blaise, who was the first person Draco confided in about his investment idea, agreed to attend Draco's first meeting with Herman. "If I'm going to be a major donor in your strangely benevolent endeavor, I should probably see what nonsense I'll be funding," he reasoned.

They met in Herman's large penthouse home, decorated garishly by Draco's standards- Narcissa always said too many gold accents are a dead giveaway of the nouveau riche- but it was tidy and aesthetically pleasing. Everything about Herman, it seemed, was tidy and aesthetically pleasing, which made sense given his career.

"Would either of you care for a drink?" Herman asked as he settled the men onto a couch in his living room. The penthouse was open-concept: the foyer opened directly into the living room, where there were a few couches organized around a coffee table with a minibar nearby. Past that was a partially closed off kitchen, which appeared as if it hadn't been used at all: the pots and pans that hung from the wall were unstained and gleaming, and there wasn't a dirty plate or mug in sight. The bar, however, was full of half-full bottles.

"Gimlet, please," Blaise requested. Draco declined, preferring to stay sober during these types of first encounters. Herman was glad to take Draco as a client, remembering Narcissa fondly. He offered Draco a fifteen percent discount on his services being that they were consulting on the behalf of a nonprofit, and one with Hermione Granger's name attached to it to boot. Draco didn't mention the consultation to Hermione in case Herman turned out not to be useful.

"So," Herman said, passing Blaise his drink. "What can I do for you?"

"We're looking to contract someone to develop a media and public relations strategy," Draco said. He had spent the night before reading through some material Hermione had owled over and came prepared. After reading Hermione's files he had come to better understand the fundamental structure of what she was creating, and the more he learned, the more ideas he had. He imagined a grand kickoff fundraiser catered by five star chefs, where Potter and company would make inspiring speeches. Perhaps Herman could secure them some newspaper or magazine interviews.

He handed Herman a bullet list of projects Hermione was planning on funding and another list of influential names they could utilize. Herman's eyes grew wider and wider as he scanned the list. "This is ambitious," he said. "But you're well-equipped if you have _these_ people on your side. These people, with your tenacity and my skill… we could do big things."

Blaise sipped his drink and leaned forward. "Bear in mind that this is not Draco's endeavor. It's Ms. Granger's, and we're here on her behalf to see what you have to offer."

Herman put down the papers and nodded intently. Draco could see the wheels turning in his head: the man had ideas. "I have a strong background in unconventional media. This is how your mother found me," he said to Draco. "Other public relations specialists, they occupy their time with managing celebrities and squashing trivial drama. My skills are unique. I have a knack for shifting perceptions, subverting assumptions, and changing the way the mind perceives what's before it."

It sounded a bit like snake oil but there was no denying that Herman played a strong part in keeping the Malfoys out of Azkaban. Herman continued: "I'll need a clear strategy before offering any particular recommendations, though. What's your goal here? Fit it into one sentence, two maximum. It's impossible to do good work without a clear strategy to guide you, a Northern star to point to when you're lost in the weeds."

"We don't have one of those yet," Draco said. "But I can get you one within the next week. If you can provide some credentials, maybe a few references, that would be good to convince Gr-Hermione."

Herman leaned in, studied Draco carefully. "I want to know _your _motives, though. I have a feeling they might be separate from Ms. Granger's."

Blaise interrupted. "Draco's motives are neither here nor there."

"I don't judge," Herman said with his hands in the air. "I was the one to take the Malfoy name and keep it from being entirely dragged through the mud. I'm no stranger to controversy and I have no problem with defending those who have questionable intentions. It's easier to do my job, though, if those intentions are made clear from the start."

Draco swallowed. He wished he had the room to be indignant, but the truth was, his motives _were _different from Hermione's. He wouldn't have given her the amount of money he did if he didn't think it would help lift him from the depths of public shame. But he also was interested in Hermione's ideas and the more he learned about them, the more he cared.

"I won't try to pretend like this won't be good for my reputation," Draco said. "But it would be equally dishonest to say I don't care about Ms. Granger's cause. I'm firmly dedicated to rebuilding a stronger magical community and I'm looking for people who will help me do that."

Blaise gave Draco an impressed nod and raised his glass. "I'll drink to that. Mr. Galgantio, I have some questions from a legal perspective. Can you speak to your experience with defamation law?"

Draco was pleased with himself. As he vaguely listened in to Herman's droning he picked at his left shirtsleeve, and noticed his wrist. The bruises were light and faded- he hadn't thought to pinch himself in days. He couldn't remember a time in the past few years when his wrist wasn't some shade of deep indigo. In fact, he wasn't sure his skin would be able to fully heal after the years of damage he'd inflicted. But there his wrist was, a mottled pink and blue… _healing_.

Somewhere next to him Herman was showing Blaise a portfolio of past media clippings and photoshoots, but Draco was in another world. He gently stroked the delicate skin of his wrist, in awe of his body's ability to heal itself despite the abuse.

"Mr. Malfoy," Herman said, interrupting Draco's thoughts. "Here is what I propose: I will review these documents and come up with a preliminary strategy. I wish to meet with both you and Ms. Granger to ensure I am getting the complete picture. Will that work?"

Draco looked at Blaise, who nodded. The portfolio must have been impressive. "That sounds like a fine plan."

They chatted for a little longer- Herman was eager to share stories about past clients and their subsequent successes, but Draco struggled to focus. He felt something he thought was reserved only for those with less to repent, with less burden to shoulder. He looked down at his mending wrist. He felt hope.

* * *

That night at Weasley dinner, Draco caught Hermione before the meal began. He gestured for her to come to the side and they stepped into the stairway away from the others. Hermione had been whisper-talking to Potter and Weasley, a common sight during group gatherings. The three of them huddled together in a way that made anyone around them feel like an outsider. They had an inherent trust in each other, the type of bond that could only develop as a result of undergoing collective trauma. Draco wondered what it would be like to have had someone to go through his trauma with. Company would be comforting, but it would mean that another human would have to go through what he went through, and he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Which in a way, was himself. He reached for his wrist and then stopped. _You've been doing so well_.

When they were out of earshot he shared the news with Hermione. "I wanted to tell you," he said. "I met with that PR consultant- the one my mother hired- earlier today. Don't be angry, I didn't share anything confidential, I just wanted to see if he might be a good fit. He has some excellent ideas and I think he would be an asset on our team."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "That's great. I'm surprised you're already getting out there to find people."

"I told you, Granger, I'm in this. Besides, I'm not going to throw my money around without exercising some level of control over how it's spent." Draco's demeanor around Hermione was so unlike how he behaved in private or around strangers or acquaintances. He hardly knew her but around her he felt confident, cocky even. He peacocked more around her, wanting to prove to her that he was her equal. _I can keep up_, he was trying to say. _You don't scare me_.

Unfortunately, that confidence bordered on arrogance, which made Hermione bristle. "This is a partnership," she warned. "We'll make all the decisions together."

"Right," Draco said. "Which is why I told him very explicitly that I wouldn't hire him until and unless I had your full review and approval."

Hermione smiled. "Good," she said. "Thanks. Speaking of doing things together, I finally set up a desk for you at the office. I'd love to have you start coming in full time this week if you're up for it."

"Of course," he said.

"Or you could come in part time, don't feel like you have to put too much time into this."

Draco shrugged. "I want to help," he said honestly.

Beyond the hallway in the dining room, Molly was putting down plates and ushering people in from the backyard. Hermione looked out at them, and then back at Draco. "By the way," she said, slightly nervous. "I told Harry and Ron about the money. I know you wanted to wait but… they kept asking why I wasn't stressed about funding anymore and I tried to keep your name out of it but then Ron guessed it was you-"

"Weasley guessed?" Draco said, surprised.

Hermione shrugged and smiled impishly. "He must see through you more than you think."

"There's nothing to see through," Draco said stiffly. "You get what you get."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured for them to both go sit. "Come on, now."

As they tucked in for dinner, Draco watched Harry and Ron to see if they would treat him any differently. He couldn't pinpoint anything particularly out of place, but he could swear he was getting more glances than usual from across the table. At one point he caught Fleur staring at him intently— when he met her gaze she immediately stared down at her plate, her cheeks red.

In the middle of dinner it began to shower outside. It was heavy rain that fell in large droplets which echoed on the many rooftops of the Burrow.

"It's that time of year," Molly said, sighing. "It always ends up flooding in at least one of our rooms. Arthur, can you make sure the hole we patched is holding up? The one from last week when it was storming?"

"I will, but I should go de-gnome the yard first," Arthur said.

"Why's that?" asked Neville.

"Rain drives them out of the ground. They're easier to chase out when it's raining."

Bill waved for his father to sit. "I'll take care of the gnomes, Dad," he said.

"It's a two-man job," said Arthur.

Bill looked across the table and settled his eyes on Draco. His expression was blank. "Malfoy, shall we go at it together, then?"

Draco sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Him? Why would Bill want _him_ to help? "Er- sure," he said hesitantly. He looked to his left at Hermione, who appeared equally bewildered.

"Great," Bill said. They trudged out to the lawn and put up their arms to shield themselves from the rain. Bill cast a charm and suddenly they were both encased in a warm, dry bubble.

"Thanks," murmured Draco.

"Let's get this over with then," said Bill. Draco followed him to the side of the lawn, willing the earth to spontaneously combust or swallow him up whole. They reached the side of the yard where the gnomes were hiding and began chasing them down and yanking them from their hiding spots.

"Can't we spell them out?" asked Draco.

Bill shook his head. "They've been around for so long that they're immune to standard removal spells. It's easier to just yank 'em and then Confund them so they can't find their way back."

Draco nodded and pulled one out from a gnarled rosebush. He thought about saying something to Bill, offering some sort of apology or peace offering. He hadn't spoken to him since Andromeda's funeral and wasn't sure if the animosity between them remained. He tried more than once to open his mouth but each time words failed to come out. He took a break from gnome hunting to press gently against the old bruises on his wrist, feeling guilty about how the tension eased with the influx of pain.

They worked in silence for the next ten minutes; Draco hurled so many gnomes over the fence that his arms grew sore. Mr. Weasley was right, the rain really did drive them up and about. He never had to degnome his own home- there were always elves or servants to do that work for him.

When they finished, they both stood and looked at each other momentarily. Draco never paid much attention before to how bad Bill's scars were. They ran jagged across his eyes and nose, making his features distorted and off-balance. He thought about Bill's daughter, about how it would feel to know your own daughter might be afraid of your face.

"Bill," he started.

"I heard what you did for Hermione," Bill said, cutting him off.

"What?" How had Bill heard?

"It's good. It's a good start." Bill cleared his throat. "Good start," he repeated. "Just wanted to let you know."

He nodded at Draco and then walked briskly back to the house, leaving Draco to smooth the garden soil over himself. When he was done he released the drying spell and let the rain clean the dirt from his palms and knees. He relished in it for a moment, ignoring the throbbing numbness in his fingers from the cold. _Bill _had begun to forgive him. If all it took for Bill Weasley to start to come around was a mere rumor that he was helping Hermione, Draco couldn't imagine what the entire launch and campaign would do for him.

He laughed into the night sky, free and light. This was absolvement, he thought. And it felt amazing.

* * *

When Draco came into the office for his first official day, Hermione had completely rearranged her office to accommodate him. There was a new desk across the room from hers with some cabinets in between to provide some level of privacy. Still, if he craned his neck he could see her easily over the barrier.

He wore his best office casual: a dress robe with a button-down, tie, and slacks. Missy shined his shoes and packed him lunch. He felt coddled but hadn't thought to pack one himself and was grateful to have the attentive elf in his life.

On his desk there was a folder, a notepad, and a fresh white quill and ink. There was also a shiny gold engraved nameplate. _D. Malfoy_. Seeing it made him swell with pride. It occurred to him for the first time that this was his first real job. Never before in his life had he sought employment and secured it. After Hogwarts he worked for his parents' estate like many other Purebloods and hadn't given it a second thought. This job, while far less lucrative, filled him with a sense of purpose he had never felt before.

Inside his folder was a first day agenda, typed and neatly hole-punched.

_10:00 AM: Introduction to the office_

_11:00 AM: Strategizing session_

_1:00 PM: Lunch_

_2:00 PM: Review Galgantio's proposal_

_4:00 PM: Strategizing cont._

"You made an agenda?" he asked, calling out so Hermione could hear him across the cabinets.

"Hm?" she said. "Is it already 10? I can start the tour if you're all settled in."

"Tour?" he asked. "It's one room."

She stood, staring at him incredulously. "Everything in this room is organized according to a particular system I carefully developed. If you aren't adequately trained in the system everything will fall apart."

"_This _is organized?" he said, gesturing at some of the cabinets, which were stuffed to the brim.

"Like I said, it's a very particular system. But it works."

Draco looked up at the clock, which read 9:55 AM. "Well, let's get started. I'd like to see how your brain works, Granger."

It turned out that Hermione should have budgeted much more time for her tour. By the time they had completed a loop around the office, it was almost time for lunch and Draco's head was pounding. Hermione Granger's brain, it turns out, was a cavernous maze ripe with trap holes and stairs leading to nothing. As much as he tried to commit to memory the strange way she organized her thoughts, nothing made sense. They spent half the tour bickering- Draco offering "better" ways for Hermione to do things, and Hermione taking twice as long to then dissect his suggestions and reveal their technical flaws. By the end of it, Draco was none the wiser and the tension in the room was palpable.

"I'm going out for lunch," Hermione said when the clock hit one o'clock. Draco spent the time alone in the office re-reading her guide, loosely based on something she called the _dewy dec-mal system_, which sounded more like one of Teddy's cartoons than a way to properly organize information. But the more he inspected her work, the more he realized its ins and outs, the more he came to understand the ingenuity of it. Frustration melted into respect. It was starting to make sense why she always had top marks.

It was raining hard, and when Hermione got back she had to shed her layers before settling back in. As she was reaching to unravel her scarf from under her parka she looked at the row of file cabinets strangely. "You moved things," she accused. "What did you move?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said, amused. While she was gone he found a mistake and corrected it- he was surprised she already noticed the slight change.

Hermione finished unbuttoning her coat and then went to inspect the papers. She took the folder that had been moved and went to return it to its proper place when Draco stopped her.

"Read the publication date on that," he said without looking up. He heard her pause. And then:

"Oh."

He peeked up and she nodded at him with respect. "Good catch," she said. "So you've come around to my system?"

"It'll take some getting used to."

She smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure you're up to the task," she said brightly as she came over to his desk and tapped his agenda. "Shall we review Mr. Galgantio's proposal, then?"

Draco learned, as he and Hermione worked through the list of services Herman offered, that their brains worked in very similar ways. While their processes were different, their natures were identical: they were analytical, critical, and detail-oriented. There was no stone left unturned, no option unexplored. They spent the entire afternoon working through Herman's list of ideas. Unsurprisingly, Hermione had a lot to say about almost everything. Some things Draco agreed with, many he didn't. It was four-thirty when they finally decided to hire Herman, a decision that Draco felt could've been made in half the time. This was her process, though. As they argued over ideas and scratched things out on paper it became more and more clear to Draco that he was less of a co-pilot and more of a backseat driver. Still, he found ways to get his opinions through- he noticed Hermione was insecure about making final decisions, and he used her hesitation to his advantage. He also realized she hated conceding to him, so he tried to frame certain things as though they were her idea to begin with.

Draco stood awkwardly when the clock hit five. It was his official cue to leave. As he carefully packed his briefcase, he noticed Hermione made no motion to leave. She had looked up when the clock hit, barely seemed to register the time, and went back to reading.

"Are you going home, Granger?"

"Hm?" she asked, dazed. "Home?"

"It's five o'clock."

"Oh," she sighed. "There hasn't been a single day this month where I worked regular hours. I'm usually here until seven or eight o'clock, and that's on good days."

"What's left that can't wait until tomorrow?"

She looked at him ludicrously. "We only got halfway through today's agenda. Now I have to do preparatory work so we can expedite tomorrow's strategy session, otherwise we're at risk for not coming up with a name and mission statement in time."

He put down his briefcase. "So I'm going to go home while you stay here and do the work?" She shrugged. "No, this is supposed to be a joint effort. If you're staying, I'm staying."

She looked confused. "You don't want to go home?"

"Granger, what exactly do you think I go home to?" he asked in a moment of rare honesty.

"Oh," she said. She pulled together some papers and held them up to him. "Well. Then here, make a copy of these and get started."

It was funny, the way she got so absorbed in what she was reading that she couldn't focus on anything else. When she was aware of them she tried her best to be mindful of her manners. The problem was, she seemed to always be lost in Hermione-land, buried in whatever thought was currently occupying her head.

He tried to focus on the papers but his mind kept dancing away. They were boring: rambling reports on the psychology of adjectives, press release clippings, and even a graph about the power of colors. Finally he stood and walked over to Hermione's desk. "Granger, this is ridiculous," he said. "Why are we reading all of this?"

"So we can decide on a name and a mission-"

"No," he said. "This is more than anyone would ever need to develop those things. In fact, stuff like this is the reason we hired Herman. This doesn't have to be a one-man show anymore. You don't have to think of everything."

"But I _like _to think of everything," she said.

He sighed. "Have you ever heard that saying- perfection is the enemy of progress? Or something like that?"

She furrowed her brows. Her hair was now pulled into a loose bun and she had on her reading glasses. "So how would you have us do this, then?"

"You're overthinking everything. We need to break it down. Do you have a list anywhere? Have you brainstormed?"

"I wanted to be more prepared before I brainstormed," she said sheepishly. He shook his head.

"No. Here's what we do: we say whatever comes to our mind until we come up with something we like."

She frowned. "I-"

"Let's just try it," Draco said, shutting her down. "I'll start. _The Fund to... Restore... Justice_." He wasn't proud of the suggestion but it was the first thing that came to his mind.

"What? That's terrible," she said.

"You come up with one, then!"

Hermione's face went blank. "Um…"

"See?" he said. "You were reading all about imagery. What are we trying to do here? What would get our point across?"

"Well, it's money to help rebuild England," Hermione reasoned. "So I like the idea of restoration."

"_Born-Again Foundation_," Draco said jokingly. She was unamused.

"Reborn… rebirth," she reasoned. "Something about cycles?"

"That's vaguely menstrual, is it not?" he said with a smirk while she rolled her eyes. "Let's back up. Should it end in _agency? Fund? Foundation? League?_"

Hermione thought about it. "We're going to serve as an intermediary to process big ideas and fundraise on behalf of grassroots organizations so they can help implement those ideas. So we're a fund _and _a think tank."

Draco thought hard. There needed to be some thematic aspect to it- it needed to be creative without being confusing, and descriptive without being verbose. "What about the moon? It waxes and wanes throughout the month, but always becomes full again. We could use the symbolization of the moon in the name."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I like it, but I feel like it would take too much explaining." She settled her chin in the palm of her hand, her fingers wrapped around her lower lip. Suddenly she lit up. "The phoenix! How did I not think of that sooner? Harry would love that, too, and we could use the story of Fawkes…"

"That's good!" Draco said. He wasn't sure who Fawkes was, but the symbolism of a phoenix was perfect. "I like it. We can call it the Phoenix Fund."

"The Phoenix Fund," Hermione said, testing out the name on her tongue. She smiled. "I like it. I like it a lot."

Once they decided on the name and coronated it by writing it down, circling it twice, and highlighting it, Hermione decided to order Chinese takeout to celebrate. Draco hadn't had this "takeout" before but trusted her judgement. He'd been to China before, so he knew he liked Chinese food. As they waited for the food to come they began working on the mission statement. Draco knew this one would take longer and they had barely put together half a sentence before the delivery arrived and they decided to quit arguing over commas, and eat instead.

Once they were both sitting at Hermione's desk, hunched over chow mein and dumplings, it felt inappropriate to keep talking about work. Draco reverted to silence, but Hermione tried to make conversation. "So you and Ron play chess together now?"

Draco flushed. "It's just once a week."

"I think it's great," Hermione said encouragingly. "I didn't mean to judge."

"He's not as dumb as I once thought. Granted, I originally thought him on par with a concussed troll-"

"Malfoy-"

"But he's really more like a well-educated house elf."

"Malfoy!" she chastised, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"He told me you were rubbish at chess, which was surprising," he continued. "Hermione Granger, smartest witch on this side of the Atlantic, terrible at the ultimate game of strategy."

"First of all, that is very debatable. I can think of at least four more strategy-based games."

Draco smirked. "Like what?"

"Like… like _Go_. Or _Risk_."

"What's _Risk_?"

"It's a board game where you take over the world. It's honestly rather violent, like a miniature game of colonization."

"Why have I never heard of this?" asked Draco incredulously. "Our dorm would have _loved _that."

"I'm sure the Slytherins would have been great at it," she said with a tone of playful disdain. He bristled at her words: he hated when his house was used against him.

"Well, let's go play it, then," Draco found himself saying.

"Pardon?"

Draco wanted nothing more than to pretend he said something completely different, but instead he doubled down. What was he _doing_? "Let's play it." He looked up at the clock on the wall and cursed himself. It was seven in the evening. What was he doing?

"I do have it at home," she said, surprisingly open to his suggestion. "I could run and grab it."

Draco shoved a dumpling into his mouth and shrugged. Hermione took this as a yes and made a quick Floo trip, returning with a large box.

"So how do we play?"

Hermione laid out the rules in detail while Draco listened, surprisingly patient. When she finished, he had no questions. "Excellent. I'll be blue."

"You get it?"

"You're quite thorough."

They took turns laying out their pieces, and then the warfare began. Draco could tell she was aiming to collect Africa (interesting choice) while he was far more occupied with conquering Europe (obviously). He rolled sixes three times in a row, prompting her to check that he hadn't charmed the dice in his favor.

"I'm offended you think so little of me," he said once she reluctantly confirmed his innocence.

"Don't act like you're above such slimy tactics."

He smirked. "Actually, had you been anyone else, I probably would have rigged the dice."

"And what makes me so different?"

He moved to collect her fallen troops and tossed them into her pile. "You're the only one I know I wouldn't be able to sneak it by."

She looked surprised, but flattered, by his words. "Oh."

He got invested into the game quickly, enjoying the feeling of conquering new territory. He had just relinquished control of East Asia when he looked up at the clock and saw that they had been playing for nearly an hour. He was getting too comfortable and so was she- her legs were folded criss-cross like a yogi's and her chin was nestled into the palm of her hand as she contemplated her next move. She had the most intense expression when she was thinking. He saw it on her at least dozen times just that day: furrowed brows, lower lip drawn between her teeth, leg bouncing anxiously. Against all logic, he had the urge to reach out and rest a palm on her flesh: calm down. You're brilliant. You'll figure it out.

He buried the urge deep inside his brain where he didn't have to think about why it was happening. To distract himself, he reached into his pocket and slipped out his wand. He murmured a spell and one of his blue plastic men suddenly sprang to life.

"For England!" it squeaked as it toppled over one of Hermione's infantry.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. She smiled, entertained. "I believe that's cheating."

"You made no mention of spontaneously bringing my pieces to life in the rules."

"Fair enough." She drew her wand as well and suddenly a dozen of her men were shooting sparks at his soldier, melting his little plastic body.

"To die defending one's homeland is the greatest honor," the blue man squeaked as he melted into a shiny plastic puddle.

"Great, now my set is ruined," complained Hermione.

"The sparks were your idea," Draco said, tucking his wand away. "This game isn't nearly as strategic as chess, anyway."

"You're just jealous because you were losing," she teased.

"I was not-"

"Typical Slytherin, destroying the game while you're behind."

His smile fell away. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?" she re-positioned herself and he averted her eyes so as not to look up her skirt.

"Make all those snide remarks about my house," he said. "I didn't choose it and being in Slytherin doesn't automatically hold me responsible to everything anyone in my house has ever done."

She nodded solemnly. "True."

"Can we- can we try for a clean slate?" he asked.

"How do you mean?"

He picked up one of the plastic soldiers and fiddled with it. "I mean putting the past in the past. Not holding past transgressions against one another."

"As I recall, I have far fewer transgressions to be held against me."

He bowed his head, trying not to let her see his discomfort and shame.

"But I'm willing to try," she said. She smiled gently, bowing her head to make eye contact. He tried to keep himself from reaching for his wrist- it was odd, how he felt the urge to give himself pain even when his emotions were positive ones. He couldn't handle any of it, good or bad. He was used to hiding it all for so long.

"Thank you," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"I think the game is probably over now," Hermione said, gesturing at the board. "Plus, it's getting late."

Draco sighed in relief. Finally, he could escape. "I should really be getting home. Missy will get angry at me for working too much."

She laughed. "She's such a sweetheart. Go home, Malfoy. I'll clean up for the night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I have some extra-"

"Filing to do?" he finished. She grinned.

"You know me too well."

He stood, grabbed his coat and briefcase, and headed for the Floo. "Goodnight, Granger."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

* * *

One of the unfortunate downsides to being a disgraced war villain, of which there were many, was the number it did on one's sex life.

It wasn't as if Draco couldn't have gotten laid if he really wanted to. There were certain subgroups of women- foreigners, those from wealthy pureblood families who wanted to secure cleaner bloodlines, and the politically ignorant, for instance- who would sleep with him. But Draco was too self-isolating to pursue anything with anyone. There had been a few encounters, women he found in bars, including one who named a price but after chatting for a moment took him upstairs for free. These nights felt ritualistic, as if he was performing a duty out of obligation to himself. Afterwards he could go retreat back to his house, alone, a hermit, satisfied for the foreseeable future.

Despite his infrequent sex life, Draco hadn't had a wet dream in years. But here he was, deep in sleep, acutely aware he was dreaming but indifferent towards that fact. There was a woman bent over in front of him, after all. Why would he question anything about it?

Their bodies were suspended in navy blue nothingness, as if floating in warm water. Her skin was glowing brown, glazed in sweat, and her face was pushed down to the side. Thick brown hair covered the top half of her face, leaving only nostrils and a mouth. He could only focus on a few square inches of her at a time, the rest of his vision blurry. Her hands, held tightly behind her back by his own, her hair stuck to the nape of her neck, her lips open slightly, pressed to an invisible surface.

He was inside her but didn't feel it and couldn't see it, he just knew he was. His skin felt like it was on fire- it was pain on the edge of pleasure.

He reached forward, tried to move her hair out of her face. He was moving faster inside her, faster, faster. Her hair smudged instead, everything became blurrier, his body was even warmer, it hurt now.

Then he heard her.

_Draco_.

Oh…

That was…

Was that Granger's voice?

He came hard and hot and promptly fell unconscious into dreamless sleep.

* * *

a/n: "the next chapter should be out in a matter of days" [cut to like three weeks later] OOPS, quarantine life has not been treating me well. this chapter is very long though, over 8000 words, so i hope that makes up for it! plus, things are starting to get spicier. how are y'all doing out there? i hope this story can help distract you from the chaos of the world right now, even if only for a few minutes!


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